A Pair of Ragged Claws
by cunneware
Summary: The Charmed Ones mistrust their new whitelighter from the future. But when a portal catapults a mysterious stranger from the future into their midst, they experience a side of him none has ever imagined. A chris!revelation fic.
1. Strange Beginnings

Disclaimer: Don't own them. Hell, I'd be happy with owning the house! Or the book! Or…

**A/N**: Just to get the preliminaries out of the way: This story takes place after ‚The Legend of Sleepy Halliwell', but Phoebe didn't make the connection and no one knows who Chris really is. The sisters and their whitelighter are working together again, but things are still strained.

This story _will_ be finished, but you can't expect regular updates from me. There might be two in one week or none in a month, but eventually, a new chapter will appear. I promise.

xXx

"I should have been a pair of ragged claws / Scuttling across the floors of silent seas."

T.S. Eliot, _The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock_

xXx

**Strange Beginnings**

They were in the attic when the portal opened. Piper could hear Phoebe scream something to her left but ignored her sister as she fell into the fight routine they all had developed over the years.

Whatever would be coming through that portal, she doubted that it was good. Bianca hadn't been good, anyway, and after the events of the past weeks, she wasn't so sure about Chris, either.

Something took shape in the glowing triqueta and she lifted her hands, ready to blow up any danger that might come to her family. Suddenly, blue orbs filled the space in front of her, quickly coalescing into the form of Chris. Blocking the path between her and the invader.

„Damn it!" Piper yelled. „Chris! Out of the way!"

Chris' head flew around to her, then back to the triqueta. His body tensed and Piper rushed forward to push him out of her firing line, but before she could even touch him, he reached into his sweater and suddenly held a long athame in his right hand.

„What the hell…" Piper could hear Paige whisper and wanted to agree fervently. What kind of person stored a knife like that in his sweater, for good's sake?

The question died on her lips when Chris drew back his arm and, with uncanny accuracy, threw the knife at their unknown attacker. It hit their stomach with a sickening, wet sound, and the dark shape doubled over, struggled for a moment, and fell.

The glow of the portal vanished, leaving the attic in absolute silence.

xXx

A/N: This is just a teaser. Tell me if you want it continued or not!


	2. The Law of Club and Fang

The Law of Club and Fang

Piper took a deep, steadying breath.

She had become used to a lot of things in the past six years, but this had happened too quick for even her to understand it.

A hasty glance reassured her that both her sisters were standing at her side, unharmed and obviously just as shocked as she was. The too still body of their unknown invader lay crumpled at the foot of the attic wall, where the portrait had opened.

And Chris, their rather shifty but harmless whitelighter – or so they had thought – was standing at one of their storing cupboards, rifling through their belongings with growing impatience.

"Paige, where are the damned crystals?" He asked, no, barked, and Piper felt herself bristle with annoyance. Who did he think he was, to talk to them that way? She had half a mind to call Leo down, right now, and let the elders deal with Chris' behaviour, and she had to be rather pissed off to even consider that.

"Left drawer," Paige answered coldly, just as Phoebe seemed to regain her wits.

"Chris…why…how could you just stab someone? You don't even know who that is!" She whispered, effectively returning her sisters' attention to the situation at hand.

"Not now, Phoebe," Chris cut her of brusquely. He was still rummaging through the drawers, probably searching for enough crystals to form a cage, and not sparing them a glance.

Piper felt her irritation grow – how could he dare dismiss Phoebe like that? – but there was also a strange feeling of trepidation inside her, a feeling that she was missing something, that something wasn't right.

Slowly, her heart beating faster and her hands still extended to defend herself at a moment's notice, she walked over to the stranger that had fallen into their midst. He was lying on his back, long, dark blond hair protecting his face from view like a curtain.

Only the shallow up and down of his chest betrayed that he was still breathing… his chest.

"It's a woman," Piper whispered, not sure at the sam etime why this was of any importance. They had fought against many female demons, after all, and never had their sex played any role at all.

Still, she found herself kneeling down by her enemy's side, and, almost against her own will, her hand reached out and touched the hair that hid her face, brushed the strands aside to see more.

The injured woman flinched back violently, arching away in a movement of subconscious protection, and Piper found herself reaching out again, only to be yanked away by a sudden hand on her shoulder.

"What do you think you are doing, Piper?" Chris hissed, angrier than she had ever seen him.

She huffed, not believing how he treated her and glad at the same time that he had just given her a legitimate reason to vent her feelings, but before she could answer, he had turned away from her and to the injured stranger.

"Stay away from her, all of you," He commanded and arranged the crystals into a cage form with five quick steps.

"But…she is just a girl," Piper whispered, turning towards her sisters in search for she knew not what. "She can't be older than twenty!"

"A girl?" If anything, Chris' voice had turned sharper as he echoed her words. Again, he reached into his sweater and suddenly there was a knife even longer and sharper in his hand than the one he had hurled at the girl.

Piper blinked.

"Okay," Chris said, again in that cold, commanding tone she had never heard from him before. She had been treated to a variety of tones from their whitelighter over the past months, the neurotic whining and outraged yelling being the most irritating ones, but never had he sounded like a… like a general, she found to her own surprise. Like a genuine fighter. Darryl sounded like that, sometimes, and so had Andy Trudeau, but only in moments of like and death. How could their scrawny whitelighter have that tone down to perfection?

"Okay. This is what will happen," Chris said. "I am going to go into the cage now. You will put the crystal back into position after me, and then you will retreat to the other side of the room. You will not remove a crystal or enter the cage no matter what happens, do you understand?"

Piper huffed again, as irritation finally overrode any other emotion these chaotic past minutes might have produced. Without looking, she felt her sisters walking over to her and closing rank. They were, as most days, united in their anger at Chris.

"I don't think I like your tone, young man," Piper said icily.

"Yes," Paige quipped in. "We've dealt with a lot more dangerous things than girls, and we've been at this longer than you have, Chris."

For a moment, Chris simply closed his eyes. When he opened them, Piper saw a tired resignation she had often seen flicker across his face in the past months. Usually, this expressionw as the beginning of a very long and very boring lecture about their duties as charmed ones, but this time, something else was coming.

Quite frankly, it shocked the three of them into silence.

"Look," Chris began, and the way his mouth compressed into a thin line told Piper how hard he held onto his patience. Well, good for him! The only people in this room who had a right to be irritated were the ones without knives, after all!

"Whoever that is, she must have come from the future. And that means she's here because Wyatt want her to be. Now the last person he sent nearly killed you, Piper, stripped me of my powers and forced me to return to the future. Since Bianca failed, I assume that this one will be _more_ dangerous, understand? I will make sure that she can't get out and that she isn't a threat, but I can only do that if you stop questioning what I'm doing."

Piper heard Phoebe to her right sigh and had to suppress a grin. He still didn't know them at all. If there was one thing the Charmed Ones would never stop, it was questioning each and every thing that happened. Maybe that was driving Chris crazy, but it was also the thing that had kept them alive for so long.

"If she is that dangerous, Chris," Paige offered, a tint of amusement in her voice, "Perhaps one of us should step into the circle with her. You are, after all, not half as powerful as a Charmed One."

He gave her one, hard look.

"But I am expendable," He answered, and something in the way he said it took Piper's breath away.

"You are not expendable," Phoebe protested, obviously just as shocked as Piper. "No one is expendable!"

"But I am not part of the power of three," He pointed out, and it sounded terribly logical when offered so calmly. Seeing that he hadn't convinced them, he sighed and ran his hand through his hair in a gesture that showed his irritation clearly. "Look, I'm not simply walking into a circle with a dangerous demon, okay? The tip of that athame was coated with a special poison. It should bind her magic into her body, and the wound itself is serious enough to keep her from attacking me any other way. It's just that I am the only one from the future here. You wouldn't know what to ask or what to look for. Now, can we _please_ stop arguing and concentrate on the dangerous attacker over there?"

Piper huffed again and crossed her arms in front of her chest, but she herself knew that further protest would be unreasonable. It seemed that he had thought ahead on this one, although it disturbed her that he had obviously expected a threat of this kind, strongly enough to hide knives about his body, yet had not thoguth it necessary to inform them.

Well. That would be an argument for another day.

"Alright," She conceded and saw her sisters nod in hesitating agreement. So they didn't like this hwole situation, either. She wasn't surprised.

Without another word, Chris kicked one of the crystals to the side and stepped into the circle, motioning for Paige to close the connection behind him.

He circled the wounded girl with careful steps, then suddenly knelt down at her side and gripped both her hands, drawing them over her head and securing them with handcuffs – and where the hell had he gotten those handcuffs, and why was he carrying them around with him?

But before Piper could open her mouth and ask just that, his hand struck out and hit the girl's face with a resounding smack.

"Chris!" Paige yelled, "What do you think you're…"

A whimper from the girl stopped her in her tracks.

"Look at me," Piper heard Chris whisper, and again there was something so alien in his tone that she felt a shiver overtake her body, like a warning of dark things to come. "Look. At. Me."

Slowly, the girl shook her head, whether to protest this treatment or to clear her thoughts Piper didn't know, but the movement set the strands of hair that concealed her face into motion, and it slid back, exposing dark grey eyes, a small nose and bitten, bloody lips.

Chris was on his feet and standing as far away from her as possible in the constrained room before the girl had even finished the motion.

"You?" He whispered, his tone even colder than before. "You."

"You _know _her?" Paige asked, disbelief in her voice. "You stabbed someone you know?"

"Believe me", Chris answered, and there was a hard glint in his eyes. "If I had known who she was, I would have gone for the throat."

XxX

A/N: The chapter title is a quote from Jack London's _Call of the Wild._

Thank you for your feedback! More of it is always welcome!


	3. Fox and Hand

Fox and Hand

_Chris was on his feet and standing as far away from her as possible in the constrained room before the girl had even finished the motion._

"_You?" he whispered, his tone even colder than before. "You."_

"_You _know_her?" Paige asked, disbelief in her voice. "You stabbed someone you know?"_

"_Believe me", Chris answered, and there was a hard glint in his eyes. "If I had known who she was, I would have gone for the throat."_

…*…

Phoebe was probably one of the few people in San Francisco who dealt with hate like that now radiating from Chris on a regular basis. But normally, it came from demons and was directed at the Charmed Ones, something that seemed like the natural order of being by now.

To see such hate in Chris' eyes, however, and directed at a girl that couldn't be long past her twenties, was kinda disturbing.

"Who is she?" she whispered, hoping that Chris' unusual streak of honesty would continue, but Chris just sent her a sharp look that even a non-empath could translate, and returned his full attention to the girl.

They watched each other silently, like two animals from opposite ends of their cage, until the girl tried to move and cried out in sudden pain. Her voice sounded very young.

She tried to move her hands, probably to test the severity of her wounds, but was restricted by the handcuffs. Her face seemed to clear, then, as if she only now realized the situation she was in, and her gaze snapped back to Chris. Who was still staring at her with hate burning in his eyes.

"Fox," she whispered, her concentration fixed on Chris and Chris alone, and Phoebe could see a strange expression darting over their Whitelighter's face. But when he answered her, his voice was unchanged, cold, and very hard.

"Hand," he said. "I would ask what you are doing here, but it's just too obvious."

"Fox, I came to…" the girl wheezed, but Chris cut her off before she could explain herself.

"I do not want to hear your lies, Hand," he hissed, furious. "If you say another word, if you move just one muscle before I tell you to, it will be my personal pleasure to slice you open. Understood?"

She nodded, a minuscule gesture, but Phoebe couldn't blame her after Chris' threat. The dead _serious _threat, if one judged from the way his fingers clenched around the hilt of the really big knife he was still holding onto.

She shared a look with her sisters.

"I'm sensing issues here," Paige whispered, her quirky humour still very much present.

Piper nodded. "Must be big issues," she said, not bothering to whisper. "I mean, look at her. How dangerous can she be after he stabbed and handcuffed her?"

Phoebe could see Chris' shoulders twitch in irritation as they always did when he thought them particularly stupid. But really, how dangerous _could_ she be? And what could she have done to deserve such a treatment?

"You have no idea," he murmured, and it took Phoebe a moment to realize that this was an answer to Piper's question, not to her own thoughts.

Without further explanation – and wasn't that just typical? – Chris went down on one knee by the girl's side and started searching her pockets. When his hands came out empty, he muttered something under his breath and began to methodically pat her down.

He found nothing, but this result seemed only to increase his tension.

"Where are your weapons?" he demanded angrily. "And don't even try to tell me you brought nothing with you."

Mutely, the girl raised one hand and pointed to the other wall, where the portal had opened and they could now see a black backpack lying innocently among the normal attic clutter.

"In there," she whispered, and then, after another wheezing breath. "Please, Fox, I…"

"Quiet," Chris demanded, and she obeyed immediately.

Phoebe wasn't surprised. It was clear that these two knew each other from the future, and even more obvious that Chris hated her guts.

Her behaviour was more difficult to read, probably because the pain from her stomach wound overrode any other emotion, but Phoebe thought she saw respect in her eyes, nervousness, and when the girl had called him 'Fox' for the first time, she could have sworn that there was something more in her voice, something like admiration… or relief.

And yet there was something lacking, but only when Phoebe concentrated her whole mind on the girl did she realize what it meant…

"I can't get a read off her," she grumbled, loud enough so that both Chris and her sisters could hear her. "Do you all hate empaths in the future? Stupid time travellers_._"

"The resistance uses empaths for scouting," Chris informed them absently, still eyeing the girl. "Wyatt protects all his followers with potions. Paige, would you put another crystal cage around her backpack? Quickly, please."

_At least he's asked this time_, Phoebe thought. She met Paige's questioning eyes and nodded, agreeing to play along for now.

"Crystals," Paige called and easily orbed them to their destination. Phoebe couldn't remember that they had ever protected them from something as harmless as a backpack, but then their whitelighter hadn't always been such a paranoid control freak.

She turned to Piper to share this sentiment, but her older sister seemed fully occupied with something else.

"So she's one of Wyatt's followers?" She asked. "That _girl_?"

Phoebe knew what she thought – how bad could Wyatt be if he enlisted children? But she also remembered Bianca, moving faster than Phoebe had ever seen somebody move. Somehow she doubted that childhood meant quite the same thing in their and in Chris' time.

"Later, Piper," Chris said, but Phoebe could see that he was angry withs himself for letting slip too much. He reached inside his sweater – and the amount of things he seemed to store in there was becoming downright preposterous – and pulled out a flat plastic box. "I'm kind of busy right now."

He flipped the lid open and revealed a syringe and a small vial. With an expertise Phoebe had never expected from him, he drew up the syringe and flicked it a couple of times before injecting the girl in the shoulder. She barely moved when the tip broke her skin.

"It's the same potion that's on the athame," he explained absently. "Which I will remove now, since we unfortunately can't let her bleed to death. Though I really wouldn't mind watching that."

The last murmur obviously wasn't meant for their ears, and it made Phoebe wonder again about the girl. But the new and unexpected talents Chris was displaying made her wonder even more.

How could he know the right way to inject someone? How could he know how to remove a knife and stem the bleeding with such quick efficiency (and the sound that knife made when it slid from the wound? Eeew!)?

He produced another potion – _again_ from his sweater – and carefully coated the wound and the surrounding skin with it. All that with the steady hands of a doctor, and all that without losing sight of the girl's face and hands even once.

So, yes, Phoebe was definitely impressed by the time he had finished and even more impressed when she saw skin knit itself together and blood disappear under the glistening film of potion. Although he lacked Leo's ability to heal with magic, the world had obviously lost a fine doctor in Chris.

She had just opened her mouth to tell him so, when the second athame made a surprising reappearance.

Chris' grip on it was sure and steady, and he didn't hesitate as he slid the blade under the stranger's shirt and sliced it open in a single, smooth cut.

It wasn't even a conscious movement. Before Chris had finished cutting, Phoebe was half across the room, ready to stop this here and now. But Chris didn't even look up at her when she reached the cage. He was busy peeling back the bloodied material of her shirt, exposing a well-muscled torso and a black jogging bra.

„Stop right there, Phoebe," he said calmly, and to her own surprise, she obeyed. If he had yelled, if he had shown any aggression towards her at all, she knew she would have walked over and kicked a crystal away. But his steady concentration showed her that he was still in control. That – for whatever reason – he thought this was necessary. Though Phoebe couldn't for the life of her understand why.

But Piper either didn't notice her whitelighter's state of mind, or she just plain didn't care. She wasn't famous for her patience, after all.

"Right," Phoebe heard that hard tone in Piper's voice, the tone she always got when things were spiralling out of control and she wanted them to stop. Now. "I've had enough of this, Chris. I don't care how you handled things in the future. You will step out of that circle now, and then you will explain to us exactly who this person is, why you are carrying around daggers in your sweater, and why _the hell_ you think you can undress her."

Phoebe grimaced in pity. When Piper was that pissed off, the only thing one could do was follow her lead and wait till the storm had passed. Not even Prue had usually stood up to the middle sister when she was in a temper like this, and Prue was a hell of a lot more stubborn than Phoebe was.

But Chris, it seemed, was even more stubborn.

"You know I can't tell you," he said, still not bothering to look at them while he cut away the girl's clothes as if it was a matter of course.

"You can't tell us why you are stripping a girl in front of us?"

"Well done, Piper. That's exactly what I said," he answered, his tone oozing condescension, and Phoebe saw Piper's hands twitch, just dying to blow their bitching whitelighter up.

"Chris," Surprisingly Paige's tone, for once completely lacking of humour, managed what Piper's hadn't. Their whitelighter paused, his hands hovering an inch above the girl's bra, looked up at them, and sighed.

He looked very much as if he wanted to close his eyes in that trademark gesture of irritation, but the proximity of the girl kept them open.

"Can't you just trust me?" He tried one last time, but the expression on their faces had to answer that without a doubt, and he nodded shortly, a tightening of his eyes the only betrayal of his tension.

"She is an assassin," he offered after a long moment of silence. "One of Wyatt's top people, actually. She's the one he sends when he wants a quick, guaranteed kill. Apart from Wyatt, she's perhaps the most dangerous person living in my San Francisco."

"Okay," Paige said, although she still sounded doubtful. Inwardly, Phoebe agreed. It was hard to imagine this _girl_ as a killer. But then appearances could be deceiving, especially in the magical world. No one who met the sisters for the first time would have thought them the most powerful source of good of their time. And the Wyatt of Chris' future couldn't be much older than this girl – twenty-three, twenty-four? And wasn't that an awful thought?

"But why the undressing?" Piper demanded, still more aggressive than anything else.

"The first time we captured one of Wyatt's assassins, we didn't think of searching his clothes," Chris answered quietly. Phoebe saw his jaws work. Whatever he would tell them was bad, then. "He had a bomb hidden in his underwear. Tiny, but big enough to kill four of us and badly injure another three. So I won't make the mistake of underestimating one of them. Not ever again."

Phoebe swallowed, her throat suddenly tight. There it was again, another snippet of the future he refused to tell them about.

They always nagged and pressed for answers, but when he finally caved and told them something, Phoebe usually regretted asking. Like when he had told them that he barely got to know his family. Or that Wyatt was terrorizing the world.

And every time she caught a hint of his past – their future – she wondered what other memories where hidden behind their whitelighter's expressionless eyes, what other terrible secrets he kept. Every time, it made her realize that he lived in a war zone and that she had been unbelievably lucky to grow up the way she had, protected and safe enough to make her own mistakes.

She didn't stop him when he returned his attention and his knife to the girl's bra, but she did turn around and away, seeing her sisters echo the motion.

At least she could give the girl that much privacy, assassin or not.

"I'm going to organize some clothes for her, "Paige offered and orbed away. Phoebe could hear her return-orbs and the sound of crystals moving barely a minute later and gave Chris another tense five minutes before turning back around.

She was relieved to see the girl properly clothed and not worse off than before.

"Right," Chris broke the silence, relief evident in his face. "I couldn't find anything. If you'd let me out now…"

_He doesn't like this one bit more than we do_, Phoebe realized as she watched him step out of the cage a bit too quickly, then add the girl's old clothes to the backpack in the other cage. _Being so close to her probably terrified him._

The thought made her suddenly remember how young he still was, and _that_ thought wiped the last vestiges of anger from her mind.

As he walked past her towards his usual place near the book of shadows, as far away from the girl as was possible in the attic, she couldn't help but quickly touch his shoulder.

"Thank you," she said quietly. "For wanting to keep us safe."

He stumbled slightly and his head snapped around to her, but what really hurt was the surprise in his face.

_Haven't we ever thanked him for what he's doing? _ Phoebe wondered. Before she could ask, however, his face lost all expression as he shrugged her words away.

"It's my job," he said, then turned fully around towards Piper and Paige.

"So," he offered. "We should talk about this. Do you want to go downstairs? I for one could really do with a coffee."

"No," the girl suddenly demanded, and Phoebe wasn't the only one who jumped in surprise. Over the past minutes, they had nearly forgotten that she was conscious and able to talk, considering how passive she had been.

She had let him hurt her and touch her, and only now that he wanted to leave did she protest.

"I said _not a word_," Chris snapped, all the tension back in his body, but this time it had no effect at all.

"No," she repeated, in a surprisingly strong voice. She had managed to sit up, despite her handcuffed and twisted arms, and was watching him with desperation. "We do not have time for this, Fox! I came here to tell you something important, and I do not know how long… _Please_, you _need _to know this!"

Chris' face darkened in anger. He seemed ready to grab them all and simply orb them down to the kitchen, but Phoebe sensed a strange urgency in the girl, could see the need to speak despite the obvious fear in her eyes.

"I really think you should listen to her, Chris," she said quietly, and for the first time since that girl had walked into their attic, Chris turned around and really looked at her, his mouth already open to argue.

She met his eyes, certain that she was right. Empathy blocked or not, there wasn't much that escaped Phoebe. Perhaps she didn't know how to deal with assassins, but she did know people, and this girl's need was honest.

Chris narrowed his eyes, as if her face was a book he could read, then abruptly nodded.

As he walked back to the crystal cage, the sisters trailing after them, Phoebe could see anger in every line of his body. But he didn't hesitate when he came face to face with the girl.

"Then talk," he commanded. "But make it short. And if I hear one lie from your mouth…"

But the girl was too eager to even register his threat, and before he could finish his sentence, words spilled out of her mouth.

"I know why you are here, Fox. Bianca told me. I know, and I found out what you're searching for," she took a deep, gulping breath. "It's Gideon. Gideon is the one who turned Wyatt."

xXx

Review, please!


	4. A Coffe Break

**A Coffee Break**

"We can't trust her," Chris repeated the sentence that was quickly replacing 'Future consequences' as his favourite mantra.

"Yeah, we got that part," Paige answered, not even trying to keep the irritation out of her voice. How old did he think they were? "And I don't really mean to, considering that Gideon is one of the good guys. But I don't understand how you can just dismiss what she says, Mister-I-Check-All-Demon-Sources-I-can-find."

"Hand lies the moment she opens her mouth," Chris answered flatly, his eyes fixed on something none of the sisters could see. "It's dangerous to even listen to her."

"And that's another thing," Phoebe piped in. She had been watching Chris curiously for most of the afternoon, as if he was a specimen from one of her college-classes. "Why are you so afraid of her? I haven't seen you afraid of anything since you came here. You even stood up to a titan."

"And what's with that name?" That was Piper, irritation still showing. She clearly hadn't forgiven his act from before. "I mean, 'Hand', come on! And why is she calling you Fox? Do you have some kind of nick-name fixation going in the future?"

For a moment, Chris looked more than ready to simply orb out on them. Not that he hadn't done it before when he lost patience or they were pressing him too hard for answers. But then his eyes darted towards the ceiling, and Paige could see his shoulders sag.

Obviously, the thought of leaving them alone with a helpless, imprisoned girl was worse than answering their questions. And wasn't that interesting.

"You know I can't tell you," he finally settled for. "Future…"

"If you say future consequences once more, Chris, I swear I'll find a way to blow you to smithereens!" Piper threatened and Chris closed his mouth with an audible click. So he _did_ know when Piper was gone too far to argue with her.

"I agree, Chris." Phoebe, unusually serious and mature, offered in the voice she only used when talking about important things. "We have done our best to accept your lies and half-truths. But now there's an assassin in our attic, and if she's as dangerous as you say, not knowing enough could get us killed."

"I can take care of her," Chris protested.

"Yeah, for now," Paige added her two cents. "But what happens if you get jingled or she gets past you? Not to mention that we need to question her to find out more about that Gideon-gig. If we don't even know her real name, questioning won't go over too well."

"We don't need to question her," Chris said stubbornly. "As I said, you cannot believe a word she says. She's probably executing a plan of Wyatt's. Believe me, I've seen this sort of thing before."

"But how do you know that?" Piper asked. "How can you know so much about her?"

"It's not important. You have to believe me when I say we can't trust her."

"But how can we believe you when you tell us nothing?" Phoebe said, still trying to be reasonable. Piper on the other hand, was again cooking up a whole lot of anger from the look of it. "Why do you think you know…"

"Because she killed my best friend, alright?" Chris suddenly yelled and jumped up from the table. Paige had never seen him so angry before. Irritated, unnerved, yes, but not so angry. "He wasn't even working for the Resistance, just trying to get along, but he had the misfortune of being a powerful witch and Wyatt wanted him gone. So she came to get him, and I was there, and she tricked me, and there was nothing I could do. Nothing! She killed him before my eyes, and I will not let that happen again!"

His voice gave a little hitch on the last word, and Paige and the others stared at him silently, trying to imagine what he must feel like, having to face his friend's killer again.

"So that's why you're afraid of her," Phoebe finally broke the silence.

Chris snorted darkly. "Not just because of that. She has done more damage to the Resistance than any other witch or demon under Wyatt's command. She's slippery like an eel and lethal like a scorpion. One opening, one tiny mistake is enough for her. Then she kills you."

"Why's she called Hand?" Piper asked again.

For a moment, it looked as if Chris would pull himself together and turn into future-consequences-man again. But then he sighed, and rubbed the bridge of his nose, and gave in.

"Because she's Wyatt's right hand. She executes his wishes. Without questions and without hesitation. Wyatt gave her that name to distinguish her, but most of us use it as a curse word."

"Us?" Paige asked.

"The Resistance. Those that try to save as many magical and non-magical people from Wyatt as possible. And no, I will not tell you more about that."

Piper accepted that with a nod of her head. "You said you've seen this sort of thing before," she then said, and Chris nodded in turn.

"It's what she does," he explained tiredly. Returning to the table, he sat down slowly and grabbed his mug of coffee as if he desperately needed something to hold on to. "She undermines everything you're secure in, and when you're all alone, she drops in for the kill. She got one of the Resistance members to believe that there was a traitor in our midst. He distanced himself from everyone, tried to find out more, and when everyone mistrusted everyone she picked out the council one by one. So, yeah, I've seen this before."

Another round of silence followed. Paige watched her coffee with great concentration, swirling it in its mug and smelling the warm flavour by wondering how they should deal with this. It was a far cry from their normal problems. Usually, everything would go too fast to really think, demon-attacks, kidnapped sisters or other magical disasters piling on top of the other until one of them cut the knot and saved the day. Usually, they vanquished or they helped. There were enemies or allies. Not assassins who offered them the answer they had been searching for month, an answer that would turn a friend into a deadly threat.

"I really don't want to believe her," Phoebe finally said, and from the tone of her voice, Paige knew that she wouldn't like the next sentences one bit. "Gideon seemed like such a great man – caring, wise, powerful. I can't imagine why he should try to turn Wyatt evil. But I don't think we can simply ignore what she said. She was so desperate, so honest…"

"That's because she's a good actress," Chris said angrily. "We all are, in the future."

"And isn't that saying something about you, Mister?" Piper said jokingly, but Chris refused to be sidetracked and simply ignored her.

"She can't be trusted," he repeated instead, and Piper sighed in frustration.

"Yes, I know," she said, surprisingly soft. "But you yourself told us that this threat to Wyatt could be anything. We simply can't afford to ignore this. How would we feel if this is what turns him and we didn't prepare for it because we were afraid of a girl-assassin?"

"Don't call her that," Chris snapped, but it sounded resigned more than anything else. He knew that Piper, as head of the family and Wyatt's mother, would have the last decision. And once Piper had decided, not even natural catastrophes could make her back down.

"Look, this is all useless," he suddenly protested. "Even if we take her seriously, there's no way to prove whether she's telling the truth. And we're not going after an Elder because of an unproven tip-off from a mass-murderer!"

"But there must be a way," Phoebe piped up, back to her optimistic self now that Piper had agreed with her. "A truth spell?"

"Oh, please. _Anyone_ can fool a truth spell," Chris scoffed, and from the tone of his voice, Paige guessed that he knew this from personal experience. Inwardly, she wiped her forehead. Just as well that they hadn't tried that spell on him a few weeks ago when Piper had been especially mistrusting.

"You'll have to show me how to do that one day," Phoebe said happily. "What about my empath-powers? There must be an antidote to that blocking potion, and no one can lie to an empath."

"There _are_ ways around it," Chris answered. "Certain spells, magical blocks inside the mind… it's not really healthy, but Wyatt's army isn't known for its healthcare system."

"And there's no way to tell? Whether she's under such a spell, I mean?" Phoebe sounded extremely miffed at the thought that someone could block or fool her cool new power, and Paige had to suppress a grin.

"I don't think so," Chris mused, deep in thought. "Except…"

"Except?"

Realizing that he had let slip just one word too much, Chris sat up straighter and tried to look innocent. The result was rather shifty, in Paige's opinion.

"Nothing," he tried, and Paige shook her head in exasperation. Had he still learned nothing about them?

"Except?" Phoebe replied as if she hadn't even heard his answer, and he groaned in frustration and buried his head in his hands. Actually, he looked kinda cute that way.

"Well, there's this spell I developed to test for magical residue in Resistance members, rather complicated, but it could be used…"

"_You_ developed a _complicated_ spell?" Phoebe asked, grinning broadly.

"Oh, thank you so much!" Chris mock-complained, stretching his ends outward as if to plead for mercy. "It's so good to know that you'll always have time to mock me!"

"Yeah, we sure needed some stability by now," Paige agreed, totally serious, and Phoebe rewarded her with heartfelt laughter.

"So, your spell…" Paige continued after a moment, relieved that some of the tension had seeped from the room.

"Works like a blood test, only it diagnoses the magic in a person – their own powers, spells they used on themselves, spells someone else put on them. We _could _give her the antidote to the empath-blocking potion, then question her and work the blood test to see if there are additional spells that allow her to fake her emotions with Phoebe. It _should_ work, but I'm still not sure…"

"It sounds brilliant," Phoebe interrupted him eagerly. "Let's try it!"

"Yeah, let's," Chris agreed, sounding far less enthusiastic. "I'll have to inject her with another dose of potion soon, anyway. Might as well add the antidote."

For the umpteenth time this afternoon, he reached into his sweater and withdrew something – this time another potions vial that he examined critically. "I'll need to brew some more of that, soon," he murmured to himself.

"How d'you do that?" Paige asked abruptly, feeling the need to solve at least _one_ mystery today. "Pulling all of these things from your sweater?"

Chris looked up in surprise, his brown hair half hiding his eyes, and grinned. It was one of those expressions that made him look incredibly young and reminded Paige all of a sudden that he wasn't an ageless whitelighter, after all.

"The never-ending pocket?" he asked in a slightly mocking tone, and Paige got the feeling that there was an inside joke in this somewhere. "My brother and I invented it when I was ten. I blame Mary Poppins, but he always claimed he got the idea from a fairy tale."

"How come we've never seen it before today?" Piper demanded, and he shrugged.

"Technically, the spell is not invented yet. Revealing it to you could change the future in unforeseeable ways, so I…"

"You've got a brother?" Paige asked, both to escape another one of his lectures and out of real curiosity. They had found out more about Chris today than in all the weeks since his fiancé had come to the past, and she'd milk the moment for all it was worth.

The grin died on his face, replaced once more by the cold, unforgiving expression of their neurotic whitelighter. She was sorry to see it go.

"It doesn't matter," he answered shortly. "He's been dead for a long time."

"Oh…" Piper whispered, her face suddenly sad, and Phoebe opened her mouth to offer one of her 'profound' comments, but Chris' face was so forbidding that both of them trailed off, not sure how to handle this.

"There's another thing we should talk about," Piper, always the methodical one, offered after a moment's silence. "What are we going to do with her in the long run? I mean, if she's telling the truth or not, she is a murderer, and we can't simply let her go."

"_Great_," Phoebe moaned and let her head drop to the table with a thud. "Thank you for pointing that out, Piper. Now I feel so much better."

"What would you have done with her if you'd caught her in the future, Chris?" Paige asked, hoping that his 'future knowledge' included a prisoner-freezing spell or something equally useful. But Chris just sent her a long, hard look.

"Believe me, you really don't want to know," he said, and the sisters gaped at him.

"You didn't _kill_ people, did you?" Piper asked, outrage just hidden behind her words, and Paige sent a helpless look towards Phoebe. Another round in the ever raging Piper-vs-Chris-fight really wasn't what they needed right now.

"Perhaps we could ask the Elders to take care of her?" Phoebe offered half-heartedly, and from the way both their oldest sister's and their whitelighter's head snapped around in immediate protest, it seemed that the diversion had worked. Paige sent Phoebe a silent thumbs-up. Phoebe cringed under the outraged look of Piper and Chris.

"The Elders?" Piper hissed. "Have they ever helped us with anything important?"

"The Elders?" Chris hissed in an eerily similar voice. "After she has just accused Gideon of being the one who turned Wyatt?"

"Okay, okay, not a good idea," Phoebe held her hands as if in surrender. "But you know what? I'm tired. The day has been too long already and we'll have to go back to girl-assassin in a minute, and my head's killing me. So can't we think about that tomorrow?"

"_Good_ idea," Paige agreed emphatically and dragged Piper up from the table. "Let's go and test that test-spell-thingy on girl-assassin."

"Do _not _call her that!" She could hear Chris protesting behind her as they once again climbed the stairs to the attic. "She's a dangerous murderer, and it won't do you any good to forget about that! And don't you even think about trusting her!"

As one, the sisters turned around and looked at him in exasperation.

"YES, CHRIS," they chorused. "WE WON'T!"

0o0

**A/N: **"I blame Mary Poppins…" Mary Poppins has a bag that is far larger inside than outside. Among other things, she pulls a floor lamp from it.

Thank you for your kind reviews! I must say that I wouldn't mind more…


	5. Let Us All From Bondage Flee

**5. Let Us All from Bondage Fle****e**

Chris overtook them just before they had reached the attic door.

"Would you please follow my lead on this one?" He asked, his voice dangerously close to pleading. Paige exchanged a look with her sisters, then they nodded together.

"I don't like the way you handle this at all, Chris," Piper answered after a moment. "But there's obviously a lot we don't know, so we'll stick to what you say. But you'll have to stop when we say so, and when we want an explanation, you'll give us one."

This obviously wasn't what Chris had hoped for, but he nodded after a moment, too.

"I'll need a strong chair and adhesive tape," he said.

"Tape," Phoebe volunteered.

"Chair, I guess," Piper sighed.

"Right." For a moment, Chris stood very still and took a deep breath. He seemed to dislike this even more than they did, and that thought somehow reassured Paige.

Then, he ripped the door to the attic open, was inside with a few quick steps and through the crystal wall that held the girl captive. Without a word or a warning, he struck out and punched her in the face. She let her head fall back in pain and shock, and her body went limp.

"Chair," he called out sharply and Piper was by his side in a moment, closely followed by Phoebe.

Paige watched with growing surprise how easily he gripped the girl, half lifted her from the floor and placed her in the chair, hands on the arm-rests, and bound her to it with adhesive tape each leg to a chair leg, each arm to an arm rest. He left part of her right arm bare and fixated her head with even more tape to the back of the chair. After barely a minute, the girl was rendered totally immobile, and Chris stepped back with a sigh of relief.

"That was quick," Piper commented with a hint of approval in her voice, and Chris half turned around to smirk at them.

"I'll take that as a compliment, yes?"

Without waiting for a reply, he once more withdrew the plastic box from his sweater and injected the girl with two clear liquids, probably the antidote to the blocking potion and the anti-magic potion, then used another syringe to draw a bit of her blood.

Then, he stepped out of the crystal cage and closed the connection behind him.

"That's that," he muttered, sounding utterly relieved. "You know, I don't believe any member of the Resistance had as much contact with her and survived."

"Don't sound so proud of it," Paige muttered, because really, he _did_.

Chris opened his mouth to reply in a probably not very friendly way, but he was interrupted by movement from their prisoner. The girl moaned slightly and shifted her jaw, carefully testing for further wounds. She tried to move her head and found it restrained by the tape.

Her eyes snapped open, and she took in the room with a swift glance, ending at her own, bound arms. Then, she fixed her gaze on Chris.

"Fox," she said again, and Paige was astonished at the calm she exhibited. Not like a prisoner, but rather like a guest that had taken the offered chair out of her own free will. "I am glad to see you well."

Chris raised an eyebrow in scepticism but remained silent. Compared to the anger and worry he had shown in the kitchen, he seemed unnaturally calm now, and Paige suddenly remembered what he had said: _We're all good actors in the future_.

The girl clearly didn't expect an answer, and her eyes moved on towards Phoebe, Piper and Paige. Suddenly, she looked not calm at all, but strangely excited, even… awed. Phoebe at Paige's side twitched, and Paige wondered if the antidote had already started working. She'd have loved to know what the girl was feeling to look so strange.

Her eyes darted back to Chris, and as if she didn't dare question them she asked: "Are these the…"

"Yes, they are the Charmed Ones," Chris answered coldly. "And now you'll listen to me carefully, Hand. They know that Wyatt is evil and that you serve him. They also know that I came back from the future to keep Wyatt from turning and that I am a member of the Resistance. But that is _all_ they know, and if you tell them one word more, I will choke you to death. Understood?"

The girl's eyes were comically wide by now, and once more her eyes darted over their faces.

"They don't know…" she began, but Chris raised his arm threateningly and she fell silent abruptly. Then, she nodded and half closed her eyes in a gesture of silent submission.

"I have given you an antidote to the empathy blocking potion," Chris continued and the girl's eyes rested on Phoebe for a moment. So she knew who the sisters' were and whiche one of them was the empathy. Hmm. "So we _will_ know if you are lying, and the consequences will be painful. Is that clear?

Again, the girl nodded submissively. Paige wondered if Chris wasn't overdoing it a bit – so far, she hadn't shown a hint of that dangerous assassin he'd kept talking about. But better safe than sorry, right? There had been so much despair in his voice when he had talked about his best friend. That _couldn't_ have been faked, not by the best actor ever.

Chris walked over to the table and beckoned the sisters to follow him. He then chose a largish piece of paper from the heap they always kept around for impromptu spell writing, scribbled down a couple of lines and drew a thin line the girl's blood under it.

"That is the spell to detect magic in her," he explained and added three words under the line of blood: Mind, Body, and Magic. "Any magic she's under will appear in these columns. You can ignore _Body_ and _Magic_ for now, since any spell messing with Phoebe's powers will belong to the _Mind-_section. Will you keep an eye out for results?" He asked Piper.

"Will do," she nodded, and he thanked her.

For a moment, Paige wondered why he was so polite all of a sudden, but then she realized that he was trying to present assassin-girl with a united front. Which made sense, she guessed, If the girl was that good at pitting people against each other, showing the problems between them would be extremely stupid.

As if to prove her point Chris turned to Phoebe and smiled.

"Are you getting a feel for her yet," he asked, and Paige rolled her eyes at the pun. Then again the ability to crack bad jokes under stress like this was impressive all by itself.

Phoebe half closed her eyes and cocked to her to the side in concentration. Then she nodded.

"It's still a bit muted, but I'm getting a clear signal.

Chris actually grinned at that.

"It might be muted because of her own mental powers," he offered. "They're not active right now, but the necessary discipline helps building psychic walls…" he trailed off before it could develop into another magic lecture, and only Phoebe seemed disappointed.

"Good," he said instead. "Let's start then. And remember the consequences of lies," he continued in a suddenly cold tone towards Hand.

She simply nodded, no expression at all visible in her face.

"Who is the official ruler of San Francisco in our time?"

"Lord Wyatt," she answered him without hesitation.

"That's your truth right there, Phoebe," Chris said. "you can use that as a basis for comparison.

Phoebe nodded. And that was another one of his claims proven. He obviously _had_ worked with empaths before.

"Why did you travel to the past?" Chris now began the Interrogation in earnest.

"To inform you that the one turning Wyatt to evil is Gideon."

"Any other reason for your presence?"

"No."

Chris turned towards Phoebe expectantly, and Paige mimicked him. That had been pretty straightforward, and Phoebe should be able to…

"She's telling the truth." There was no room for doubt in Phoebe's voice, and Paige saw Chris' eyebrows climb to his hairline with surprise.

But he didn't question Phoebe. He just turned his attention back to the girl.

"Why did Wyatt send you here?" He asked sharply.

"He didn't. He doesn't k now that I came. Though he'll probably find out soon enough."

"Truth," Phoebe's voice confirmed, and Chris' surprise deepened even further.

"How do you know about my mission?" He demanded. If anything, her words seemed to increase his mistrust.

"Bianca told me," Paige could see Phoebe suddenly twitch. An unusually emotional response had been hidden in those words, though her face certainly revealed nothing. "We talked, after Wyatt caught her and before she came here. That gave me something to work on, and when she…"

"Chris?" Piper's voice interrupted, and Paige could see irritation dart over their whitelighter's face. But when he half turned away from the girl, his face was just as blank as hers.

"Yes, Piper?"

"Something's wrong with the spell," she sounded puzzled. ""The mind-section is blank, but the other columns say 'possessor non'. I'm not sure…"

"What?" Gone was any sign of restrain in Chris' face. He seemed nearly wild as he rushed over to Piper and tore the sheet from her hand. His face paled before their eyes as he scanned the text, once, twice.

"No," he whispered, and something in his voice sounded broken. "That's not possible…"

"It is," the girl disagreed calmly from her chair. "I'm sorry."

"Who…" Chris was clutching the sheet of paper in both hands now, as if he desperately needed something to hold on to.

The girl lowered her head, avoiding his gaze. "You know who," she said roughly.

"Who?" He repeated. Her head sank even deeper.

"Lord Wyatt."

Chris' eyes darted towards Phoebe, his eyes wide and panicky. She just nodded, though she looked as puzzled as Paige felt.

"Truth," she said, and Chris' eyes darted back to the girl.

"Which spell?"

The girl's body shook, as if she was trying to shrug.

"It doesn't matter Hand," she said in that same, rough tone. "It doesn't concern you. You should…"

"_Which spell?"_

"Chris, what exactly is going on here?" Paige asked, worried by the rapid loss of control on his part. She remembered what he had told them about Hand, how she was perfect at using vulnerabilities to her own advantage, and although she had no idea what they were talking about, this was obviously a sore spot for Chris.

But Chris just ignored her.

"_Which spell?"_ He asked again, and this time, the girl looked up and met his eyes.

"_Servilis_," she whispered.

Chris stumbled over to the sofa and sat down hard. He looked as if his world had just been destroyed.

"Chris?" Piper was walking towards him slowly, carefully, as if dealing with a wild animal. "Can you tell us what that means? Chris?"

For a long moment, Chris stared into nothing, his face blank and his body absolutely quiet. Paige couldn't remember ever seeing her whitelighter that still before. Well, except when he was unconscious. But when awake, he always seemed in motion, driven by a nervous energy that reminded her of Piper at her worst moments.

To see him so quiet, so… defeated made her feel all itchy. But when he looked up at them again, what she saw in his face was much worse.

"It means that Wyatt is further gone than I thought," he said calmly, but with a terrible pain behind his eyes. "It means that he enslaved her."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

**A/N:**

_Possessor non_ = not the owner

_Servilis_ = serving, enslaved

Review, please!


	6. The Right Prize

**The Right Prize**

„_Enslaved _her?" Piper's voice nearly broke and Phoebe couldn't stop the moan of pain that slipped over her lips. Her sisters' emotions were blocked and she had her suspicions about Chris, but the room was charged with emotions, and even the best blocking potion couldn't suppress feelings like these.

Strangely enough, the sound seemed to snap Chris back into his whitelighter persona. His eyes cleared, and his face regained an at least remotely natural colour.

"It doesn't concern you," he said, still a bit too harshly, but a far cry from his emotional breakdown a few minutes ago. "And it doesn't change anything."

"Doesn't _change_ anything?"

It was pretty funny, the way her two sisters had been reduced to shocked echoes of Chris, but there was nothing funny about the thought that her cute little nephew would grow up to enslave people and rule the world. Nothing funny at all.

"It changes a lot, Chris," she said, trying to be calm and collected. She had noticed that he tended to take them more seriously when they controlled their emotions. "Apart from the fact…"

"How long?" Piper's voice interrupted her. Ignoring every warning Chris had given them, the eldest Halliwell had walked over to the girl, confronting her directly. "how long have you been his _slave_?"

Instead of answering, the girl's eyes searched for Chris, asking for permission.

"How long?" Piper asked again, voice and control near the breaking point, and after a moment of tense silence, Chris nodded, giving his permission.

"Step away from her, Piper, please," he asked, but she didn't react, and he didn't push.

"Four years," the girl finally answered, her eyes still on Chris so that she could react to his commands immediately. "He bound me shortly after I was given to him."

"_Given _to him?" Paige asked, joining her sister in front of the tied-up assassin. Chris ran his hand through his hair in silent irritation, then gave up any hope of regaining control and walked over to stand between the two Charmed Ones.

Only Phoebe remained seated. With emotions running as high as this, she thought it safer. Fainting in the middle of the attic was neither dignified nor pleasant, after all, and she was wearing a new and very expensive skirt.

Again, Chris nodded his permission, but the girl's answer didn't clarify much.

"My former Master gifted Lord Wyatt with me, in exchange of the oath."

Paige opened her mouth to ask again, and Chris sighed.

"In the future, witches and most demons are unfree," he added quietly. "They serve more powerful warlocks and demons and are a valuable merchandise. Wyatt usually demands the most powerful servant of an enemy he has defeated. In exchange, he lets his enemy join his followers."

"That's barbaric!" A social worker's sense of justice lay in Paige's answer, and Phoebe could feel her disgust, right besides Chris' exhaustion and Piper's despair. From the girl however, the only person in the room without an empathy block, she felt only resignation and acceptance.

"It is our reality," Chris answered sharply, then seemed to remember who he was talking to. "And it's more than you need to know."

"You're wrong, Chris," Piper whispered. Phoebe's eyes burned with her pain. "_My_ son did this, my sweet little Wyatt. I need to know…"

Slowly, she walked towards the girl, her hand stretched out as if to calm a wild animal.

"How does he… does he treat you well?" she whispered softly.

As if in answer the girl's emotions _slammed_ into Phoebe, fear, shame, anger and despair rolled together tightly. They were like a punch in the stomach and Phoebe rocked back against the sofa with a cry of surprise.

"Future consequences," Chris barked, and silently, Phoebe agreed. Piper didn't need to know about this sort of pain. Not when it had been caused by her own son. "It is irrelevant anyway."

"How can this be irrelevant?" Paige yelled, whirling around to Chris and staring at him with angry eyes. "She's a slave! He forced her to do these things! In my book that makes her a victim and her decision to come here especially brave!

Chris took a deep breath, again seeming to fight with the impulse simply to orb away and end this without telling them anything, but again the presence of the girl stopped him.

"It is irrelevant because a spell of that magnitude could only be worked with her willing participation," he said instead, and from the twinges of emotions that reached her, Phoebe could tell that his calm was as faked as hers.

"And if she's just a victim, it's our duty to… what?" Paige's tirade stumbled to a sudden halt. "Willing participation? But what kind of person would agree to be a slave?"

The girl, strangely silent in the middle of this chaos until now, chuckled bitterly.

"Who wouldn't," she said. "If the prize is right."

And again, Chris stumbled over to the sofa and sank down on it, as if he had lost the strength to stay on his feet.

"The prize doesn't change the fact that you sold yourself, or does it?" Paige demanded, and Phoebe wanted to echo the girl's bitter chuckle.

Sometimes, she simply forgot how young Paige still was, how idealistic. The years with Cole had cured Phoebe from the belief that there was always a right and a wrong. Sometimes, there were only compromises. And the question of how much you could still live with.

"What was your prize?" Phoebe asked, without a hint of Paige's anger.

Again, the girl hung her head and avoided their gaze.

"It doesn't matter," she whispered. "What's done is done."

"Oh, it so does matter," Paige disagreed. "For example, it might decide if we vanquish you or not."

It was obvious to both her sisters that she was bluffing, but the girl couldn't know that. Still she remained silent until Chris turned towards her and repeated the question.

"What was your prize, Hand?"

There was another spike of emotions in the girl, and an expression that looked very much like pity in her eyes, when she answered: "San Francisco."

And Chris just nodded, his eyes slipping away from her, and fixed his attention on something only he could see.

Piper, however, took this as the much needed chance to explode.

"That's ridiculous!" she yelled. "Why are we even listening to this? And what does that mean, 'San Francisco'?"

Still calm in the face of Piper's anger, the girl took a deep breath and answered.

"It means that he threatened to destroy San Francisco and everyone in it if I didn't agree. So I did."

To Phoebe's left, Chris buried his head in his hands. He seemed totally uninterested in controlling the situation now, as if he had forgotten that the girl was a dangerous assassin. Or as if other things had simply become more important.

He threatened to destroy San Francisco," Piper echoed again, very close to blowing up everything in sight now. "But that's… Wyatt would never do that!"

"Why ever not?" Chris' hollow voice asked from the safety of his hideout. "He did it to Washington D.C., after all."

And in the silence following that statement, Phoebe had to whisper: "They are telling the truth. Both of them."

0o0

_Review, please!_


	7. Monsters

**Monsters**

The next twenty minutes made no sense at all to Piper.

Sure, some part of her listened to the continued interrogation – continued in a very different tone, for Chris had lost most of his aggression somewhere along the way -, and some part saw the faces of the of her issters and knew that they were itching to comfort her, that the words of the girl and Chris' confirmation had schocked them as much as her.

But most of her mind was busy repeating Chris' words over and over again: _He did it to Washington D.C., after all_.

It couldn't be true. It simply couldn't. Because if it was… _Then I'll raise a monster_.

And for the first itme, she thought that she understood Chris' zeal, his ruthlessness. She understood his willingness to go to any length if it could stop that future from happening.

How could a single person destroy a city? How could anyone be that powerful? Or that evil?

_Not my Wyatt_, a part of her moaned. _What did I do wrong? What _will_ I do wrong?_

And another part of her hated this girl because of the knowledge she had forced on them, _hated_ Chris because he was sitting there confirming it, having known it all along and _not_ having stopped it from happening yet.

She knew she was unfair to him, but by everything she believed in, how _could_ he be so calm and collected, _why_ was he wasting time like this, asking a million questions that made no sense whatsoever?

What did it matter how many outposts Wyatt was installing on the East Coast, or if he had gotten control over the crystal skulls yet? They were in the past, none of htat had happened yet – or would ever happen, damn it! – and they should concentrate on Gideon instead of wasting any more time!

And then Chris asked a question that suddenly made all of her listen very carefully.

"How much time do you have left, Hand?" There was something like regret in his voice, hidden away under all that whitelighter control.

The girl tried to shrug but was stopped by her bonds.

"I'm not sure," she answered calmly, as if the question didn't really concern her. "No longer than three days. Under normal circumstances, Wyatt could use the _servilis_ against me, but I don't know if it'll work on a different timeline."

Chris nodded. "Then we should get as much out of you as we can."

The girl nodded, too.

"Wait, wait," Phoebe said in her nervous tone. "We're talking about how much time she has before she goes back to the future, right?"

Chris looked at her, and something in his face softened.

"No, Phoebe," he answered. "We're talking about how much time she has before she dies."

Piper's heart gave a painful little jump. Always, people were dying around her and she couldn't stop it. Hell, she couldn't even stop her son from turning evil from the looks of it.

"Dies?" Phoebe sounded horrified. Her eyes kept darting from Chris to the girl and back, unable to believe the words or the casual tone.

"It's part of the enslavement spell," Chris explained as if that _explained_ anything. "She acts against his commands, she dies. She flees, she dies. She stays away from him for too long, she…"

"Dies," Phoebe finished and sank down on a chair. "And there's nothing we can do?"

"No," Chris answered without hesitation. "Breaking a spell of Wyatt's would take the power of three and drain you for weeks. We can't afford that delay, not now that we finally know who's responsible."

Something in those words plunged Piper's mind right back into the clarity she usually experienced during a crisis. It was a wonderful feeling, cold and crisp and very precise, like cooking a terribly difficult recipe with the secure knowledge that you would get it _just right_ this time.

The clarity gave her power. And the strength to concentrate on the outside world and open her mouth.

"What you're telling us, Chris," she said and saw Paige jump in surprise. She had looked as out of it as she had felt, then. "Is not that there isn't a possibility to help her. It's that we're to let an innocent die because it's more convenient to us."

"She's not an innocent," Chris protested. "Just because he enslaved her doesn't mean that she had no options! She ran away now, she could have run away years ago. Or she could have killed herself."

He looked as if he considered that an acceptable alternative. He really looked as if he was serious.

"I don't believe it!" Piper yelled, not sure if she was blaming him for the right thing but not caring just now. "She's just a girl and she's been forced to serve warlocks and demons! You've spent the last hours telling us again and again how evil Wyatt is and how he can destroy cities, and now you expect a girl to give up her life just because you can't be bothered?"

"I'm not much older than her!" Chris yelled right back, levelling an accusing finger at the girl. "And I've been fighting against demons and warlocks as long as she served them! If it would help my mission, I'd lay down my life in an instant! I've lost more than you can imagine and if I fail I'll have to go back there again, so excuse me if I don't feel pity for a mass murderer that has suddenly found her conscience! A month ago, she would have killed all of you in a heartbeat!"

"You're so self righteous!" The cold anger coursing through Piper's veins felt so good, so clean. "All these months you've been hounding us, misleading us, lying to us! If you'd told us all of this from the beginning, we could have saved Wyatt by now! If it takes a few weeks to save an innocent, then I accept that risk! Save the innocent! That's one of the rules we've lived by all our lives!"

"She's NOT AN INNOCENT! She's an ASSASSIN!" Somehow, Chris managed to make even a yell sound condescendingly. Piper wanted to explode him very, very badly. "She's killed more people than you've saved, don't you get it?"

He took a deep, laboured breath, closed his eyes, and fought for control. It was quite impressive that he found some, really, but Piper wasn't in the state to appreciate it right now. She was in the state that just wanted him to hurt as much as she did, to admit that he was ruining her life and apologize for it, damn him!

"Look," he said, aiming for calm and nearly managing it. "Your rules don't work right now. This is war. It's what I've been doing for years, and I know it's not pretty. But when the fate of the world rests on our decision, we can't afford to be merciful. She dug her own grave, and we've no choice right now but to let her lie in it."

He looked so smug standing there, explaining it all to them as if they were children. As if this wasn't about her only son, as if her heart wasn't breaking right here, right in front of him!

"You're disgusting!" She hissed. "You're just like your Lord Wyatt, you know that? Sacrificing people without a second thought because they're standing in your way? I bet it started like that with him, too!"

Chris went white with anger. He raised a trembling fist, and for a moment, Piper wondered if he would strike out at her.

"You've no idea what you're saying," he whispered, his voice vibrating with emotions she didn't care to name. "What do you know about me? Have you ever cared how I accomplished the things you asked of me? Have you ever asked where _I_ come from in all this? How dare you compare me to him? How _dare_ you?"

He was panting now, his arms pressed close to his sides and his eyes wild. Phoebe had risen from her chair and was walking towards them, probably to play the mediator, but Piper didn't care.

This was something she understood, some part of right and wrong that hadn't gone to hell during the past few hours. She wouldn't buy into his cruel disregard of others' needs, into his selfish fixations, and she had already opened her mouth to tell him so when the girl's voice stopped her in her tracks.

"Fox is right," she said calmly. "You can't wait another two or three weeks. I knew how this would end the moment I made my decision to come here. Saving me isn't worth the risk."

She paused, but the lack of Piper's conviction had to be visible on her face, for after a moment she continued: "Besides, if you stop Wyatt from turning evil, none of this will have happened. I won't have died, then."

_Is she trying to console me?_ Piper thought, disbelieving. She_, consoling_ me_?_

"You're all mad, you future people," Paige said after a moment, voicing exactly what her sisters thought. "Totally nuts. And we won't allow you to die, girl, if you want to or not."

"Fortunately, it doesn't matter what you're allowing," Chris cut in, his lips still tight with anger. "Since I'm the only one in this time frame who knows how to break the spell, and I'm not going to tell you. So you'd better accept reality right now. Keep her tied up at all times."

And with a shower of orb lights, he was gone from the attic.

0o0

Thank you for all your comments! I really wouldn't mind some more…


	8. Just Like Him

**Just Like Him**

About a hundred miles east to San Francisco, butterflies were playing on a peaceful clearing. Sunlight danced through the leaves of centuries-old oak trees, and not a human or animal in sight to disturb the peace.

That is, until blue orb light transformed into the figure of Chris Halliwell, witch and whitelighter.

"Damn them," he shouted, hands clenched into fists and panting as if he had been in a fight. He didn't notice the butterflies darting away in panic.

In his years as head of the Resistance, his unusual self control had been remarked on more than once. He could direct backup troops via telepath, deliver first aid and hold his own against a demon, all at the same time and all without breaking a sweat.

But something about the sisters could shoot all his iron control to hell in a minute. There was a pressure inside his chest, building and building and _it wanted out_.

With a roar, he unleashed his magic, letting it soar free around him, twisting, slicing, ripping through the air around him

When his strength was finally gone, the clearing was a mess. He had fallen to his knees sometime during the outburst, and splinters of what had once been an oak tree dug painfully into his legs.

He desperately wanted to let go right now, curl up on the cold ground and sleep for a week.

_You're just like him_, her voice whispered in his head, again and again. _Just like your Lord Wyatt_.

His mother's voice, but it had never sounded so cruel when she lived, not when she had fought, or lectured him, or disciplined him and Wyatt. Not when she had died.

And, _God, _he did not need that mental image right now. His memory had been busy enough these past hours, procuring pictures of Alex' violent death and the one that had caused it. No one could mistake Hand for a girl once they had seen her face sullied with the blood of an enemy, expressionless and so very cold.

"I can do this," he told himself firmly, hoping he'd listen. "I'm the only one who can, and I'm not gonna let them down! I'm _not_ gonna give up!"

But it was hard to remember that he was doing this for them when they were looking at Hand with pity and at him with suspicion in their eyes, so hard!

How was he to convince them that there was no other way to deal with this? How to make them cooperate when they believed that he didn't mind letting her die?

That decision had hurt just as much as the others he'd had to make over the years, and, God, why didn't get this any easier? Every fighter he'd lost, every death he'd caused had sliced him open, carving a piece from his soul.

He had the feeling that there wasn't much left to carve out by now, but that didn't take the pain away. And his mother – no, Piper, not his mother – had the gall to call him self-righteous.

He took a deep, sobbing breath, and cradled his forehead in his hands. Bianca would have dragged him back up by now, told him to stop wallowing and get the job done. But Bianca was dead, taken from him like everything else, and all he had left was memories.

Another breath. Breathing was difficult, he could barely get the air past the knot that had permanently settled in his throat since Hand had waltzed through that _bloody_ portal. Since all his plans of keeping the future to himself and telling the sisters only the barest bones had gone to hell in a hand basket.

Allowing them to be present during the interrogation had been a mistake. Just one of the many mistakes he had made in the last months.

Leaning forward, Chris dug his hands into the torn earth, hissing with pain as splinters and rocks cut his skin. But the pain was good. It cleared his head.

He gritted his teeth and continued to dig, dug until his hands were bleeding and his whole mind was busy dealing with the pain.

"Get a grip on yourself," he hissed through his teeth. "This is the only thing you can expect. You meant what you said back there, didn't you? You'd lay down your life in an instant, and what's your bruised ego against the world?"

He'd started talking to himself shortly after coming to the past, telling himself all the things Bianca or Wes, his right hand man, would have said. It helped, it really did, never mind that he sounded like a lunatic.

It would help now.

"You've got no reason to freak out," he told himself firmly, burying his arms in the ground up to the elbows. "You've got your first real lead, damn you! There are things to do, people to see, and you're wasting time moaning about your life! Get up and get it done!"

He pulled his hands from the earth and hissed again when he saw the damage. He'd have to see to that before he went underground _or_ returned to the manor.

Infection and illness wasn't something you could afford in times of war, especially not when most healers and whitelighters had been killed off. So as negligent as Chris might be where sleep or regular meals were concerned, as meticulous was he with tending to his injuries.

Thinking longingly of the painless golden glow any whitelighter could dish out, and knowing at the same time that the only thing awaiting him was his first aid kid in the backroom of P3, Chris orbed away.

Leaving the clearing in ruin and the butterflies seriously disturbed.

0o0

In the grey pre-dawn light, the conservatory looked as bleak as they all felt.

Walking from Phoebe to Piper, Paige silently handed them cups of steaming herbal tea – not to keep them awake, the tension thrumming through their minds and bodies made that one sure, but to make them relax enough that sleep became at least a possibility.

Phoebe muttered a quiet 'thank you' when she found a cup in her hand. Piper just continued staring into nothing.

None of them liked giving up. None of them liked admitting that they had no options left. But if the past hours had shown anything, it was that Chris had told them the truth.

The spell that controlled the girl didn't exist in this timeline, and so the only place where they could hope to find the counterspell was in Chris' head.

There was nothing in the Book of Shadows, nothing in the small library on magic they had accumulated over the years. Nothing in the magic school's archives into which Paige had sneaked long after midnight.

And writing a spell of their own wouldn't work either, as the fairly disastrous experiment around 2 o'clock had shown. Paige still had the headache to prove it.

At three in the morning, they had given in to Phoebe and called Leo. Who had taken one look at the girl and the by now fairly dishevelled state of the attic and demanded an explanation, only to take a second look at Piper's drawn face and announce that, never mind, explanations could wait.

Sometimes, Paige loved Leo, she really did.

Unfortunately, he returned barely an hour after they had called him, and he'd had nothing new to offer them. None of the Elders whom he had approached – carefully, just as they'd warned him to – had ever heard of the spell.

That had left them with no new information and a rather insistent ex-whitelighter-come-elder who hadn't dealt well with either the news about Chris, Hand, or Gideon.

It had taken Leo nearly an hour to calm down again, and his tirade hadn't made them feel any better.

He had orbed away near four o'clock with the promise to find out anything about Gideon, Chris or the girl – discretely. And they had shuffled their tired bodies into the conservatory, where they were now staring into depressed nothing.

"That's it," Paige said sharply, and Phoebe jumped in surprise. "We've done everything we can right now, and we're too tired to go on. I hereby order us all to bed, and tomorrow we can think about solutions."

"Weren't you here these past hours?" Piper said numbly. "He won't do it. He was very clear on that point."

"Well, maybe if you hadn't compared him to the evil ruler he's been fighting against for years," Phoebe offered, a bit too sharp, and Piper bristled.

Phoebe had been in a snit about Piper's behaviour ever since Chris had orbed away, and Piper's absolute refusal to discuss it hadn't really helped things.

Paige could understand both of them – there had been real hurt on Chris' face when he'd orbed away, and Phoebe had always been slightly more sympathetic towards their whitelighter than they had.

But his simple decision to let the girl die had shocked Paige just as much as it had infuriated Piper, and his continuous argument about the war that would rage in their future didn't really count. They were in the present, after all. The rules were different here, no matter what Chris believed.

And what if, Paige couldn't help thinking, what if this was exactly the thing that would lead to Chris' dark future? What if they changed and relaxed their moral standards, and Wyatt would learn from them that it was alright to let an innocent die?

Once they'd opened that can of worms, they could never close it again. The option would be out there. And who knew how long it would take for the next emergency, the next situation in which a decision like this would _really_ make things easier?

She hadn't voiced these thoughts, both because they had too many other problems to discuss ethics and because she didn't care to be compared to Yoda by her sisters. Not again.

But the thought hadn't let go of her all through the night, and perhaps it was this gnawing worry that prompted her now.

"If he won't do it willingly," she said firmly. "Then we'll need a way to find out _against_ his will. Tomorrow. Now, we need sleep."

0o0

_Review, please!_


	9. The Source

**The Source**

From the other side of the street, Chris silently watched the lights go out in the conservatory, illuminate the rooms of Phoebe and Piper (Paige was still spending all her nights with Richard), and switch off again after a few moments.

In contrast to the sisters', his night had been very productive.

Choosing a new glamour that made him look like an aging warlock with too great a fondness for drink, Chris had visited the underworld's bars and meeting points for hours, sprouting nonsensic curses and complaints about 'meddling Elders'.

He had gone no further than that, not wishing to alert anyone to his interest. But it had been enough to learn quite a lot about a mysterious Elder that had begun employing demons and warlocks a few months ago.

It seemed that Hand had told them the truth, after all. Chris didn't know whether to be relieved or shocked because an enemy had had given them the solution to the riddle and because a friend had turned out to be their worst enemy.

He gave the sisters another ten minutes to settle down, then orbed into the attic.

As always he pondered how ridiculously easy it was to invade the Charmed Ones' home. By the time he'd been old enough to worry about these things (he'd always been a worrier, a thing Wyatt had teased him about endlessly), Paige had known enough about wards to keep the manor well protected.

Of course, Chris could have done some warding of his own months ago, but that would change the timeline considerably. He also didn't fancy picking the locks every time he needed to get into the house without the sisters' knowledge.

Like right now.

Before he'd even fully materialised, his eyes swept across the room assessingly, charting changes and potential threats.

"I think it's time to… what the hell happened to you?"

He had worried about a lot of things that might have happened during his absence. He had half expected the sisters to ignore his advice completely and untie the girl, hell, even install her in Paige's old bedroom.

But he certainly hadn't expected her to be still tightly bound in the middle of the room, sporting a black eye and a split lip.

Hand raised her head towards him, and the sides of her lips curled upwards slightly. With anyone else, Chris would have called it a smile.

"They tried to break the spell on their own," she informed him dryly. "It was completely useless, of course, but it packed… quite a punch."

Chris couldn't stop the surprised chuckle that escaped from his lips. Then, he pulled himself together. This would be hard enough even without appreciating her sense of humour.

"I take it they didn't like that," he replied just as dryly, unable to keep the civility form his tone. It had been much easier to treat her like a dangerous monster when she hadn't been his brother's slave.

Carefully, she moved her shoulders and shifted her head as far as she could, to alleviate the soreness her muscles had to feel by now.

"I hadn't expected them to be so _young_," she confessed, her words an echo of his own thoughts.

Hand had never known them, but the legend of the Charmed Ones was omnipresent in Wyatt's San Francisco. Compared to them, the slayers of demons and ancestors of the Twice Blessed, the sisters of this time were just a bunch of witches on their way to becoming powerful.

But that wasn't what he had come to talk about.

Now that her trustworthiness was a distinct possibility, there were a thousand things he needed to know – things that could help turn the tide in the future's fight against Lord Wyatt, and other, more personal things that might give Chris an understanding of what his brother had become.

His eyes rested on Hand for a moment, and she avoided his gaze, not out of modesty but to allow him a free, unlimited view. She was well used to being in another's power, after all.

"Do you need anything?" he asked abruptly and her head snapped up in surprise. She looked as tired as he felt, and incredibly young.

_She should be about my age_, he realize absently. But age didn't mean much in their world, not as much as experience, and they were both old in that.

She hesitated for a moment, clearly unsure whether he had been serious.

"Water?" she then asked quietly and he nodded, orbing to the kitchen, filling a glassful and returning to the attic with barely a thought.

He tilted to the glass to her lips and she drank slowly. When she was done, he put the glass away and injected her with another dose of the potion that would block her magic and keep them safe.

Then, he murmured a spell that would empty her bladder and bowels. They had used it for nursing in the Resistance, but it worked just as well on prisoners they didn't dare untie. She seemed to recognize it, for she whispered a quiet thank you.

"Don't thank me," he growled, rougher than he had intended.

Her eyes snapped up to his face, to assess his reaction, but she didn't seem frightened. Chris had the uncomfortable feeling that she was seeing right through him.

"They are wrong, Fox," she said after a moment. "Your…"

She stopped herself before he could. What with all the magic going on in this house, one could never be entirely sure who was listening.

"The Charmed Ones are wrong," she continued after a moment. "You are nothing like him, and you never will be. Whatever you may be forced to do, it is for the right reasons."

For a moment, her words actually made him feel better, and wasn't it pathetic to need the approval of a mass murderer? She probably talked to Wyatt like this all the time, whenever his lordship needed calming down.

"What do _you_ know about me?" he snapped, not really expecting an answer. He just wanted to establish the boundaries again, a safe distance that would make all of this a bit easier.

But her answer shocked him into silence.

"I know that you are or only hope," she said clearly, not the slightest hesitation in her voice. "When Wyatt threw our world into chaos, you alone stood against him. When witches and demons were hunted down everywhere, you built a Resistance to save as many as you could. And its not only the light side that believes in you, Fox. They whisper your name in Wyatt's barracks, all those demons and warlocks, they whisper your name into the darkness and hope."

Chris took a harsh, stinging breath. He had forgotten what it was like in their future, all those expectations resting on his shoulders, all those creatures looking to _him_ to make it right.

He wasn't made for this. He wasn't the Twice Blessed, heir to King Arthur, born into fame and power. He'd wanted to be as normal as he could, once upon a time, study, get a job, juggle his wiccan duties with his personal life like every Halliwell had done.

Instead, he'd become a leader, out of necessity and because he knew that there was no one else. He'd become a name they whispered. He'd stopped being just Chris Halliwell, younger brother to Wyatt, and become Fox, the only hope.

"I'm just trying to save my brother," he whispered.

Hand nodded, as if he'd proved her point. "And that is why you will win."

Another painful breath, and dimly he realized that he'd lost any semblance of control over the situation.

He'd returned here too soon, still vulnerable from the fight with Piper, and he was losing it right in front of an enemy.

But he couldn't help himself.

"You sound just like Bianca," he said, bittersweet memories rising before his eyes.

An expression of pain flickered across Hand's face, then she smiled, echoing his own longing.

"She always said that you were the most idiotic idealist she'd ever met," she said softly.

"So you _really _knew her. How?" Chris wasn't sure if he liked that fact. It complicated things even further

"We were friends," Hand answered after a moment of thought. "She was already serving Wyatt when I was given to him and started bossing me around immediately," her expression of fondness and slight irritation told Chris all he needed to know – it was a reaction genuine to Bianca, who was both the most caring and annoying person he'd ever met.

"We often talked. She knew I wouldn't betray her even after she joined the Resistance, and whenever we could, we found a place to meet. When you went back to the past and she was caught again, we kept each other sane. I tried to convince her that she should flee or stay with you in this time, but she was too afraid of what Wyatt would do."

A pause, filled with all the things neither of them could say.

"I buried her. At your spot. She would have wanted that."

Chris turned his back to her silently and blinked away tears. At least he now knew what had happened to her body.

It took a moment for all the things she had said to make sense to him, but when they did, he whirled around in disbelief.

"Wait a minute," he protested. "You talked? Even after she deserted? But that would make you…"

In the blink of an eye, memories flashed through his mind, things Bianca had mentioned, times she had vanished and returned with sadness in her face. It all fell into place.

"You were her source!"

Bianca's source, that unnamed informer from Wyatt's inner circle whose hints had saved the Resistance more than once. Bianca had always refused to disclose their identity, even to Chris, and now that he knew, he really couldn't blame her.

He'd never have believed that hand herself would betray Wyatt. He wouldn't have trusted her intel, and the results would have been disastrous.

After a long moment of hesitation, Hand nodded.

"It doesn't matter…," she began, but Chris interrupted her.

"Oh yes, it does," he said. "It matters a lot. But how… he enslaved you, how could you even _think_ about betraying him?"

"The _servilis_ bound only my body and magic," she sounded tired, a stark contrast to his frenzied excitement. "My mind belonged to me the whole time. I couldn't refuse a direct command, but he never even considered that I might talk to his enemies."

Chris chuckled bitterly. "That's Wyatt for you," he said, knowing that of all the people in this time, only Hand could understand the full meaning of his words.

Hand, who was his enemy, but also one of the greatest assets the Resistance had had. Hand, who had sacrificed her life to bring him information and who had killed so many people he'd known and loved. Who could still be planning to betray him, for all he knew.

Who had buried Bianca.

"There are things I have to do," he told her absently. "I'll be back around noon."

His last thought before he orbed away was that – despite their damned pigheadedness – the girls had been right after all this time.

They would never let him hear the end of it.


	10. Machinations

**Machinations**

„So, I figured we could use that spell that took us through Leo's memories that one time, or maybe we could modify the ‚finding secret things'-spell, since a truth spell wouldn't work…" Paige chattered, obscenely cheerful for the amount of sleep they'd got.

"Right," Piper muttered darkly. "'Cause _anyone_ can fool a truth spell."

Glancing from sister to sister, Phoebe couldn't help but wonder if they weren't a bit hasty.

Sure, Chris had said that he'd never tell them, but that had been just after one of his epic fights with Piper, and Phoebe knew from experience that those left you barely coherent, not to mention completely illogical.

Perhaps they should simply call for Chris and argue their point again, instead of plotting how to best get into his head.

She had voiced her opinion twenty minutes ago, when this 'strategy meeting' had started, and had been stared down by both of her sisters in answer.

So keeping her thoughts to herself for now wasn't cowardice, it was … a tactical retreat. Yes. She would speak her mind once they'd become reasonable again.

Talking of which… It looked as if her sisters had moved on to a new and even more nefarious plan.

"…or we could just sic Grams on him," Piper said, and even Paige looked shocked for a moment, before a worrisome glint appeared in her eyes.

"You know, that might _actually _work," she pondered slowly, and Phoebe decided that now was the time to step in.

"Oh no, no, no!" she protested. "you know how Grams is – she'd take over everything and simply burst into Gideon's office. And remember what she had to say about you and Leo the last time…"

That got Piper to abandon the Grams-plan real quick. Phoebe grinned, and even Paige smirked in amusement.

Phoebe sighed and took another sip from her coffee. Sitting in the kitchen on a Saturday afternoon with both her sisters present was an unusual, if great, activity as of late.

Somehow, they only ever seemed to come together when demons attacked or other catastrophes happened.

_Sure_, there was an enslaved assassin from the future with a short life expectancy tied up in their attic right now, but that somehow didn't feel very catastrophic. Perhaps because they knew what to do about it, and until Chris showed up, they couldn't do anything anyway.

"I think your first plan is still the best," Piper told Paige, interrupting their companionable silence. "You trap him with the crystals, and I throw the potion. That should do it."

_Cowardly or not, here I go_, Phoebe thought, determined to add her two cents now, before it would be too late.

But as if the fates had tuned into her thoughts and decided to play her a little joke, the sound of orbing could be heard from the living room. Her sisters were off and running before Phoebe could even lift a hand.

_Great_, she thought.

Now they'd have a pissed of, imprisoned whitelighter on their hand, who'd refuse to cooperate _at all_. That's what cowardice got you, in the end.

She reached the living room door just in time to see Paige orb the crystals towards Chris and Piper throw the potion. Both moves were executed perfectly, and as Phoebe watched the crystals vanish and reappear, her heart sank.

But instead of ending up trapped, Chris _somehow_ twisted away and around, executing a perfect evasive roll and coming to his feet again just in time to deflect the potion vial with a flick of his wrist.

He was free. And not even breathing hard.

He too one long look at the useless heap of crystals, the potion now dying the wallpaper an unpleasant shade of green, and the sisters' disbelieving stare.

How had he _moved_ that fast?

His eyes narrowed, and Phoebe simply couldn't suppress a panicky "uh-oh," that had Chris huff in irritation.

But he didn't orb away. He just closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep, calming breath.

"We'll just pretend this never happened, shall we?" he offered lightly and walked past them into the kitchen.

But if Phoebe believed the tense line of his shoulders, he was still angry. Very, very angry.

Piper however either didn't notice shoulders, or she just didn't care.

"How did you do that?" she demanded as soon as she reached the kitchen. Phoebe could see Chris' left eye twitch, but somehow he maintained the pleasantly light tone from before.

"Is that really the most important thing we need to talk about right now?" he inquired.

"No," Piper answered, irritated. "But since you told us that you'd never help us free the girl…"

"Ah, yes, the girl," Chris said as if he'd only now been reminded of her. "I changed my mind. I've got the spell you need right here."

His simple declaration was met with shock from Phoebe and Paige, and with open suspicion from Piper.

"What are you planning, Chris?" she asked.

"Me? Planning?" Chris lifted both hands to signal his innocence.

"Yes," Piper gritted her teeth. Audibly.

"You've never changed your mind that easily before," Paige offered, but Chris just shrugged.

"I analysed the situation logically and decided that she would be of greater value to us alive," he said. He sounded _just_ like Mr Spock.

For the blink of an eye, Chris' lip twitched. Neither Paige and Piper noticed it, being too busy with their outrage, but Phoebe saw it clearly.

_He's _goading_ us!_ She thought, disbelieving. _He's actually having fun with this!_

"I don't believe you," Piper stated flatly.

"No?" Chris sounded utterly disinterested. "Does that mean you don't want the spell after all?"

"No!" Paige protested. "I mean yes… or… oh, jut hand over the spell, buster!"

With an open smirk, Chris offered her a folded piece of paper, which she snatched from his fingers as if it would burn any minute.

_What was that all about? _Phoebe wondered as she watched Chris and her sisters. And then, when she remembered the way Chris' mind worked: _What's it he doesn't want to talk about? Why is he hiding the reason he changed his mind?_

But as her sisters were busy with other concerns, Phoebe tucked those questions away for later thoughts and joined them in their examination of the piece of paper.

The first part of the spell was pretty straightforward, but after the rhyme followed a series of letters and numbers that didn't make any sense at all.

"What's this part about?" Piper asked, pointing to the strange sequence. "It's gibberish."

"No, it's the code that will make the counterspell work," Chris corrected in the condescending tone he always used when lecturing them about magic. "In the future, many newly created spells use such a sequence. The spell becomes a lock, and only the counterspell with the right key will work. Start and finish the spell with this, and the _servilis_ will be broken."

He paused for a moment, but not long enough to let them formulate questions like _Who the hell had thought of that?_ or_ Why was he carrying such sequences around in his brain?_

"You need to be very clear on this," he then said, totally serious. "If you use this spell, you will be magically drained for a long time. Your active powers won't be available for at least a week, and it'll be a month before we can even consider taking on Gideon."

Phoebe and Paige nodded immediately, accepting the consequences, but Piper hesitated.

"What about Wyatt?" she asked. "I mean, normally I'd ask Leo to take him up there or to magic school, but with the Gideon-situation…"

Now Chris hesitated, too.

"I'll take care of Wyatt," he offered. He could see as clearly as Phoebe that Piper wasn't happy with that idea, but after another moment, she agreed.

If Chris was hurt by her reaction, he didn't let on.

"Now, I know that you won't stay safe in the house during that time," he continued. "But we should at least secure your rooms with crystals and you should keep a few vanquishing potions close to you at all times. Paige, I'd suggest that you stay in the Manor until you can orb again. I'll stick around and sleep on the couch until your active powers reappear."

Now none of them looked happy about the next week.

Phoebe wondered how she'd manage to juggle work, Jason, and the high likelihood of demon attacks without her magic and Paige's useful orbing, but all that was unimportant in comparison to Hand's life.

From the look on Piper's and Paige's faces, they had gone through a similar thought process, and they all agreed. Chris seemed relieved.

"I also suggest that we move Hand to the cellar," he said. "I'll keep her dosed with the blocking potion, so she won't be able to use the Nexus against us. We'll put crystals around the room and add one of the old camping beds. Okay?"

Again, they all nodded. And Chris smiled, an honest-to-God smile from their bitchy whitelighter.

He looked very satisfied, and Phoebe suddenly wondered if this was how he'd expected them to behave when he first arrived to the future - thinking it over carefully, offering improvements to his plan and then doing what he said.

Well, if he _had_ expected that, he couldn't know the Charmed Ones of his time very well.

"Then we'll start in half an hour. I'll prepare the attic. Phoebe, would you make sure the rooms are safe?"

Since Paige would have to pack her stuff (and explain to Richard why she'd disappear for a week), and Piper would no doubt use the time to fuss about Wyatt, Phoebe nodded.

"Right," Chris still seemed disturbingly cheerful. "Then let's get this done!"

0o0

0o0o0

The next update might take a while longer, but feel free to motivate me with reviews!


	11. The Last of the Jedi

Last of the Jedi

Hand gave no reaction when they all burst into the attic, but when Piper told her what they would do, her eyes widened in actual shock.

_That is one messed up girl_, Piper thought, refusing to consider what part Wyatt had had in messing her up. _Surprised that someone wants to save her. _

She even argued against it. Decisively.

"This is not a good idea," she stated, but Chris stopped her with a sharp gesture.

"It's _our_ decision, not yours," he told her, and Piper wanted to hit him again. It was bad enough that the girl had been enslaved (_by your son_, a treacherous voice whispered in her mind), but did he have to rub it in every chance he got?

"I'm here because I want to be," she said just as sharply. "This should be my decision. And I say no."

"You came here to help me," Chris answered. "And _I_ will decide what form that help should take."

She didn't give in. The look she fixed them with was fierce, and without a hint of fear. Would she really fight them over her rescue?

Something in Chris' face softened.

„Gideon is an Elder," he explained. „We might need your firepower. And you have experience at this kind of operation."

Piper exchanged glances with her sisters. Was this the real reason why he'd changed his mind? She didn't think that she'd like a trained assassin to join their fight, firepower or not.

But if it had caused Chris to agree to her rescue, she would be quiet like a mouse until the spell was broken.

The girl hesitated another moment, examining Chris' face and stance closely. Then, she nodded her agreement.

Phoebe, to Piper's left, sighed in relief.

"This is ridiculous," Piper stated. "We shouldn't need to argue about it! Let's get started, everybody!"

Chris slightly lifted his right hand, and the chair with the girl in it rose into the air. Piper couldn't help but be impressed at the control he was displaying.

She had never seen such an efficient, controlled use of telekinesis, and with Prue around, she'd seen a lot of what _tk_ could do.

They watched Chris and the chair vanish through the door of the attic. Chris had refused to orb with Hand and given a terribly long and complicated explanation why that Piper hadn't even tried to understand.

Then, Piper nodded to Paige, who placed a hand on her sisters' shoulder and orbed them into the cellar.

It looked just like a prison to Piper, and she'd been on more than one Alcatraz-tour, so she knew what she was talking about.

Chris had placed a small camping bed with pillow and blanket in the middle of the crystal circle. Near the bed stood several water bottles, a small bowl with apples and bananas, and a bucket with a lid. Piper chose not to think about the last one.

"I feel very, very bad about this," Paige muttered, observing the scene unhappily.

Piper would have liked to agree, but since she was the oldest, it fell to her to uphold morale.

So she shrugged. "If this allows us to save her life, no one should complain. She least of all."

"Yeah, but…" Paige began, but fell silent when the door opened and the hovering chair began its descent.

"It's just like Star Wars," Phoebe whispered, her eyes glittering. "You know, that scene in the third movie when Luke levitates C3PO…"

Piper sent her a glare and she fell silent abruptly, but Chris snorted.

"Doesn't that make me Luke Skywalker, last of the Jedi?" he asked, with an unholy delight in his eyes.

Piper suddenly wondered if their whitelighter had been a bit of a geek in his youth.

"Hardly," she answered, and another glare told everyone present that they _should_ be concentrating on the matter at hand. "So, how do we do this?"

Chris placed the chair inside the circle of crystals and untied the girl with a wary look.

"I'll be watching you", he told her. "And if you make one wrong move, I'll squeeze your insides to mush."

Piper rolled her eyes. The girl was a slave of Wyatt, had come to the past to help them rescue him, they had blocked her magic, and _still_ Chris wouldn't trust her. Paranoid much?

"Chris," she interrupted him before he could think of more colourful threats. "How does it work?"

He looked up at her from his half crouch at the girl's side. There was an expression in his eyes she couldn't quite read, something like disappointment.

"You use the spell like any other power-of-three spell," he answered. "But you start and finish with the numerical sequence. And be sure not to get it wrong. The results would be unpleasant – for both you and the girl."

"Yeah, right, "Paige grumbled. "More unpleasantness. Just what we needed."

Piper sent her another warning look. Not that she didn't agree, but she finally wanted this whole nightmare over with.

"Ready?" she asked her sisters.

"Ready," Phoebe quipped, but her eyes darted between Chris, girl-assassin and Piper, as if invisible lines ran between them.

Piper stepped into the middle and raised the paper with the spell. She more felt than saw Chris walk to their side, standing between them and the girl, still ready to protect them. She rolled her eyes.

The sequence of numbers felt strange on her tongue, not at all fitting into their world of magic. But the spell was a good one, and Piper relaxed at the sensation of magic trickling out of her, readying itself to give form to their will.

Their voices grew stronger, one single body of sound and magic, until they filled the cellar with their words.

"We call upon the Halliwell line

To aid the power of three.

Correct our kinsman's heinous crime

And set this slave girl free."

When they had finished chanting, a wind suddenly rose in the cellar, whirling around the sisters. It took on a pearly glow, which grew stronger and stronger until it glistened white around them.

"Beautiful," Phoebe whispered, and Piper agreed.

But the feeling of loss that suddenly overwhelmed her as the wind vanished and reformed around the girl was anything but.

All of a sudden, Piper felt dizzy, weak, and vulnerable in a way she couldn't name. She stumbled and would have fallen, but Chris was right there, steadying them with his arms, his eyes silently checking their condition.

"You'll be fine," he whispered. "That's just the magic being drained from you. Nothing unexpected."

But Piper didn't feel fine. She felt as if she had lost something precious, as if one of her sisters had died all over again and left her behind. If this was how she felt without her magic, she'd never ever give it up willing. God, this was awful!

But whatever happened to the girl was worse. As the white glow whirled around her, encasing her more tightly, her legs too had lost the strength to support her. But _she _had no one to step in, and so she stumbled and trembled in a way that reminded Piper of a seizure. Her face was very white, and her lips opened to a silent scream.

"That looks… is she alright?" Paige whispered.

Chris nodded. "It's as painful as it looks, but it is a normal part of the procedure. There's no way around int."

He didn't sound as if that was really worth mentioning.

Glowing whiter and whiter, the wind coalesced into stripes of pure light, wound tightly around the girl's body. It looked as if they were strangling her slowly, squeezing the life out of her in a silent parody of a dance.

Piper made to move towards her, but her legs still weren't steady, and Chris held her back.

"This is just making the binding magic visible," he murmured. "Next, the spell will be breaking it."

And it did. As one band of light snapped around the girl, exploding into a thousand fragments of light, Hand finally screamed. It was the sound of an animal in pain, and Phoebe fell to her knees in shock, actually moaning with agony.

Piper wanted very much to join her, and Paige's face was white as a sheet. Only Chris watched the girl's suffering without moving a muscle.

One after the other, the bands of light broke and fragmented around the girl, and Piper was reminded of the servant in an old fairy tale she'd read to Wyatt the other day, who'd had iron bands around his chest to keep his heart from breaking.

The girl writhed and screamed. Piper touched her own cheeks and found that they were wet.

After what felt like an eternity, the last band finally snapped, and the light in the cellar faded to what ordinary electricity could produce. The girl had collapsed unconscious on the cold concrete of the floor, Phoebe and Paige were leaning against each other, sobbing, and Chris was observing them all with cold, unreadable eyes.

"You should go to your rooms, rest a bit," he proposed calmly. "I'll take care of her."

But Piper's sisters weren't ready to rest, yet.

"Who invented it?" Phoebe whispered. And then, her voice rising in anger: "What _bastard_ thought of a spell like this _servilis_? How can a human being want to cause so much pain?"

Chris closed his eyes. A muscle in his cheek twitched.

"It was a different time," he whispered. "And it was invented out of desperate need. Don't judge too quickly."

But he didn't sound convinced himself.

"Yeah, well, if I ever meet that _monster_, I'll be sure to listen to his reasons before I orb his heart out of his chest, "Paige answered harshly.

Chris just bit his lips. "You should go to bed," he repeated quietly, without any of his usual energy.

Paige looked as if she wanted to argue, but Piper touched her shoulder and shook her head.

"Save it for the one responsible," she advised, and saw Chris twitch, probably with irritation. "I _really _need to get off my feet."

Paige's shoulders lowered as the tension left them. Without a word, she offered her hand to Piper and together they stumbled up the rickety staircase, Phoebe stumbling after them.

Piper was too tired to even look back at Chris and the girl.

oOo

After the sisters had left, Chris stood still in his place for a long, long moment. Only his eyes, flickering from the girl to the place where the Charmed Ones had stood, proved that he wasn't a statue. His eyes were very much alive, brimming with pain and anger, fixed on something only he could see.

Then he sighed, and suddenly he was just a young man again, a bit on the skinny side and entirely too weary for his age.

He crouched down beside the unconscious girl, checked her pulse and breathing, then lifted her into his arms and carried her over to the small cot.

He arranged her carefully, making sure that her blood circulation wouldn't be impaired and that she wouldn't be cold.

When he was sure that she would be comfortable and safe, he rose from her side and started to move away, only to be stopped abruptly, as if by an invisible force.

"They're right," he said, only tiredness in his voice. "I can explain it all away, of course, and I had good reasons. The very best. But in the end, I only gave Wyatt another weapon, and they are right. I _am_ a monster."

He left the room quietly, his shoulders very tense, as if he was carrying an invisible weight.

0o0

The fairy tale Piper read to Wyatt is _The Frog King_.


	12. Procreation

**Procreation**

When Hand awoke, it was dark around her and the air tasted of night. She lay very still, only her lashes and eyes moving to take in what she could see of the room. After ten minutes of total stillness, she stretched out her legs and sat up.

She was alone.

She hesitated, then gave in to the urge to stretch her arms and legs extensively. Despite the aches and bruises the last days had gotten her, she couldn't remember ever feeling this good before. And she had no idea when she had last slept so long, or so deeply.

Hesitant hands touched her heart and her head, where the _servilis_ spell had lain heavy on her for more than four years, and she smiled.

It was a strange expression, totally untypical for the girl that had become infamous as Lord Wyatt's right hand. Not cold, not dangerous, not even calculating. Just… peaceful.

It made her look very young, even though the lines around her mouth and eyes did not fade completely.

When she had come to the past, she hadn't expected to survive the day, in fact her only hope had been to live long enough to give her message to Fox.

He hated her, she knew that, and he had every reason to kill her.

And still he had saved her life.

Again she smiled. She lay back down on her cot and closed her eyes, for once not tired and broken but full of plans and hopes.

Yesterday, she'd had a purpose. Now, if she played things right, she would have a future.

0

0o0

0

All alone in the darkness, Piper lay on her bed and stared into nothing. She had always thought that it was only an expression, but she was actually too tired to sleep.

Her body was aching with exhaustion and her heart felt strangely numb. But she couldn't sleep. Every time she'd close her eyes and nod off, something new and terrifying would pop into her head and jolt her awake.

There was the pain on the girl's face, her awful screams and the way her body convulsed and shuddered. The terrible acceptance in her eyes when she had argued for her own death. The wet sound the knife had made when Chris had stabbed her (only yesterday, and didn't it feel like a year?).

There was the sudden feeling of loss as her magic had been drained from her, the utter helplessness she had experienced and was experiencing even now. For the first time in years, she was completely vulnerable, too weak magically and physically to fight whatever threat might appear the next moment, and no chance to change that, because she had chosen it for herself.

Only now that she had lost her power did she realize how much she'd really grown into her role as a Charmed One, as the head of the most powerful light family the world had ever seen. She missed that power, she wanted it, and yet in order to do the right thing, she'd had to give it up.

There were her worries and suspicions about Chris, always growing and changing, and whatever answers he chose to give them, they only led to new questions. How could she possibly trust him, after all he'd said and done? And yet, how could she not?

And behind all that, rising from the darkest corners of her mind, was the face of her son, her beautiful, innocent baby son, morphing into a grimace of hate and anger, drawing away from her, from this life, from everything she wanted from him.

He was evil, a tyrant, destroying cities and enslaving girls, ordering murders and employing demons, and yet he was not even one, a peaceful little boy with the eyes of his father.

How could that be? How could she ever accept it? And how could she have let it happen?

That thought jolted her wide awake, and with a half-sob she sat up again, clutching the blankets around her.

Sometime in the future, for reasons unimaginable to her, she would fail her son, fail him so badly that evil would become an option to him.

"But I won't," she whispered into the darkness. "I won't let that happen, no matter the cost! I just won't!"

Suddenly, orb lights illuminated the room, forming a familiar silhouette.

"You won't what?" Leo asked, peering for her in the darkness of the room and doing a double take when he noticed her lying in bed. It was still not so late, after all, and she was more of a night person what with the club and the baby.

Now normally, she would have had a few things to say about him simply appearing in her bedroom – he wasn't her husband anymore, after all! She'd also have been up by now, shrugging on her bathrobe and pretending that everything was perfectly alright.

But today she wasn't normal.

"Oh Leo," she sobbed. "Leo!"

Without even thinking, he was by her side, his forehead creased in the familiar lines of worry that were so adorable. He hesitated for just one moment, but her tear stained face must have made the decision for him, because next she knew she was in his arms, clutched tightly, and his hands were rubbing soothing circles into her back.

"What happened, Piper?" He whispered. "Is everyone okay? Are you alright?"

"Nothing is alright," she sobbed, feeling so weak and hating herself for it, yet unable to stop. "Everything is going to pieces and I have to be strong and fix it all, but I don't know how to do that, Leo! I don't know anymore!"

"Hush, Piper, hush," he tried to calm her. "Tell me what's wrong. Just tell me, so that I can help."

So she told him, starting with the spell they had performed and how drained and vulnerable she felt, but somehow that story changed into her worries about Hand, and her disbelief at Gideon's treachery, and then she was talking about Chris and his lies and riddles.

He just listened, with that steady patience she had always loved about Leo. Listened, and when she hesitated, or stopped, or didn't know what to say, he would ask how she felt, or what she intended to do.

It felt like spring clean, in a way, a chance to get all the dirty and ugly things out for one and make them shiny and new (or at least less ugly), and while she talked, and he listened, and the moon rose over the hills of San Francisco, she gathered the courage to speak about her real fear.

Wyatt.

She felt the tension in his body when she retold all the things Chris and the girl-assassin had said about Wyatt (they had rather glossed that part over when they'd called to him for help), and when she told him what she was afraid of, deep down in her very soul, she felt the guilt radiating from him.

Leo was dealing with a lot of unresolved issues concerning his family – she could see it every time he orbed down to be with Wyatt. But he didn't put himself in the centre, even though his worries were nearly as pressing as hers, just listened and soothed her, and that was another thing she had always loved him for.

No matter what the problem was, Leo had always left her enough space to breathe, to be herself. Or to cry her heart out, just as she did now.

"I shouldn't be doing this," she finally whispered. "Breaking down. I can't afford it – there's too much to do… but I'm so tired!"

"You don't always have to be strong, Piper," Leo said, still so very close to her, his voice rumbling in his chest. "You can let go once in a while."

"No," she cried, and even though she tried to pull herself together, the sobs grew stronger, erupting from inside her like a huge line of waves, crashing over her again and again, pulling her under. "No, I can't, because there's no one else! Ever since you left, I've been the one holding things together, and it's so hard, and I can't… I can't…"

She was shaking now, desperately cold and alone, and Leo was right here, in her arms, listening to her, looking after her…

She couldn't say what made her do it, but suddenly her arms were around his neck and she was kissing him for all she was worth.

He didn't fight it. With a hunger mirroring her own, he threw himself into the kiss, opened his mouth and their tongues met in a dance that was painfully familiar and utterly arousing.

She moaned, softly, and as if the sound had woken him up, he broke the kiss and tried to pull back from her.

"We shouldn't, Piper," he whispered. "You're worried and afraid, but tomorrow you'll regret this."

"Perhaps," her lips felt hot and swollen, and all she wanted was to touch him, to feel his skin against hers just once more. "But I need this, Leo! I promise I won't hold it against you, but I need this tonight."

"I…" he started to turn away from her, and she felt his loss like a wound in her belly. Then he hesitated. He turned back around to her, his silhouette shadowed by the moon and the darkness.

"God, I miss you so much, Piper! I think that what I did was right, but I just miss you every day…"

And suddenly he was very close to her, his arms steady around her and his body warm, and she melted into his embrace.

0

0o0

0

One floor below them, on the couch in the living room, Chris lay in the darkness, dozing but not allowing himself to fall completely asleep. He was the only one with an active power in the house, and the others depended on him to stay alert.

Suddenly, his eyes opened wide and he was on his feet, searching for intruders or activated spells. His limbs were tingling wildly and there was a strange pressure in his ears, as if something in the air had changed.

It took him a moment to catalogue the symptoms, but then things clicked into place, and he wasn't sure whether to be grossed out or relieved.

A moment ago, right above his head, his parents had conceived him.

Relief won, and he fell back onto the couch with a sigh. He'd been worried about this for a few weeks, but then Hand had banished all other problems from his mind. Now he didn't even have to think about slipping them a love potion.

"Finally," he whispered, and there was a hint of a smile twitching around his lips. "Something going the right way."

0o0


	13. Those Little Moments

Those Little Moments

The next day dawned bright and unusually cheerful, at least where Chris was concerned. With his conception out of the way and a whole day without demon hunting before him, he'd decided to treat himself to coffee and muffins before he'd check on Hand.

Although he had been irritated by the need to stop demon hunting initially, the prospect of a few days of rest were becoming more attractive by the minute.

Chris closed his eyes, took a bite from his muffin and inhaled the wonderful smell of coffee. He couldn't remember when he'd last had this sort of quiet morning. He'd loved the early morning, back when he'd still gone to school and life had been normal. His mother had been an early riser, too, and it had become a ritual of sorts, to share a morning drink (no coffee for Chris, though, his mom had been strict about that) and a quiet talk before the other inhabitants of the Manor rose.

These days, he'd barely give himself time to wake up before he scrambled into his clothes and began a new cycle of research, scouting, and demon hunting, over and over again, as though his life had turned into a hellish time loop.

Perhaps he should use the coming week as a chance, not an imposition, he mused. He could refocus his research, now that he had finally located the threat, and develop a strategy, and for once get more than three hours sleep per night.

He took another sip of coffe, swirled the rest around in his mug and nodded to himself.

Yep. He could certainly do with the rest.

After another mug of silently enjoyed coffee, he walked up to the nursery, removed the safety crystals put around Wyatt's bed, and prepared his little big brother for the day, a task that had become second nature to him by now. The usual household chores were taken care off with the same ease – after all the years his mother'd had him do it, he could have cleaned this kitchen in his sleep, and then he settled himself in the kitchen with his research and papers.

The sisters turned up around mid morning, dishevelled and still yawning. Chris couldn't help but sympathise – he'd had his magic drained one or two times, and it hadn't been a pleasant experience (though being defenceless and on the run in a city full of demons had made things a tad more difficult for him than it was now for the Charmed Ones).

But still he smirked when Phoebe nearly tripped over her own feet, and smirked even more when Piper finally entered the kitchen, saw her sisters and their whitelighter, and blushed violently.

If only she knew that he knew…

"Leo's taken Wyatt up there an'll keep him safe," she told them. "He… eh… orbed in this morning to swap news."

"Really," Chris deadpanned. "Well, that was… ahdny."

Piper blushed an even deeper red and Chris considered it as revenge for having to know about his parents' sex life.

The next two days passed slowly and pleasantly. Phoebe wrote her column from home and stayed in when not doing the shopping. Paige had cancelled all temp jobs for the coming weeks and was living at the Manor for now, with Richard as an irregular visitor. Piper went to the club once or twice, but concentrated most of her attention on Wyatt,a s if an overdose of love now could stop him from becoming evil later on.

_If that system had worked, I'd be the bloody source by now_, Chris thought, but he couldn't' fault Piper for worrying about her son.

Hand was very quiet down in the cellar, neither moving nor talking unless he told her to. He had insisted that none of the sisters entered the cellar without him – they seemed to think Hand was _harmless_ without her magic, and Chris wasn't up to yet another session of distributing future knowledge.

Hand certainly acted harmless. She thanked him for every little thing he did, and whatever she was up to when alone, his first step into the room would invariably find her sitting on the narrow cot, legs crossed, hands folded on her knees.

It was creepy, and no matter how long and hard he thought, he couldn't for the life of him make out her intentions.

Was she really on their side? The sisters seemed ot believe it without question, but Chris found it hard to imagine that a witch as dangerous as she would suddenly turn into a lamb, willing to follow the path of good. She had been a killer _before_ Wyatt ever met her, after all, and there was no reason for her to suddenly stop.

Unless he still didn't know the whole picture. And wasn't that a pleasant thought?

Three days passed, and Chris began to think that for once they'd be lucky and have a quiet week. Later, he would slap himself for the dangerous naivety of that thought, but routine could lull the most paranoid into a false sense of security.

And in comparison to his world, this San Francisco was so peaceful that its hidden dangers were all to easily forgotten.

He was once again in the kitchen when the noise alerted him. He'd found that it was the ieal working space forhim – the sisters spent their time mostly in the Conservaotry or their rooms and allowed him free use of the kitchen table. Wyatt was close by and chris could keep an ee on the entrance to the cellar while working on a strategy.

At first, he attributed the muted clatter to Wyatt's habit of throwing his toys around the room, but then the demon-alert set in, and Chris was off his feet and through the kitchen before his pen hit the floor.

There were seven of them, the usual suspects in black robes and fireballs at hand. They were surrounding Wyatt's glowing shield bubble, and the stench of singed hair told Chris that one of them had tried to penetrate it already.

Thoughts and tactics flashed through Chris' mind as he examined the demons. Six to one wasn't good odds, and he'd never considered himself a brilliant demon fighter, but he'd had worse in his future, and whatever happened in the next minutes, Wyatt would be safe.

The roaring of the alert had hidden his arrival, and while the demons' attention was still fixed on the twice-blessed, Chris darted behind the safety a doorframe.

He just hoped that the ensuing fight wouldn't ruin the conservatory, or he'd never hear the end of it.

Taking a deep breath, he reached out with his magic and cancelled the alert, then focused his telekinesis like a shield and pushed it against the demons. They were thrown through the air, grunting in surprise, and though his magic wasn't strong enough to seriously hurt them this way, it disoriented them and dispersed them throughout the room quite nicely.

Chris grinned, the fierce, excited smile of a fighter. Now he had six single demons to deal with, not a large group clustered together. That would do.

Still behind the cover of the doorframe, Chris snapped his left hand towards the wall and again one of the demons took to the air. But this time, his body connected with a sharp crack and he howled in pain before falling very silent. Before the others could even react, Chris' right hand closed into a fist and he jerked downwards. Another demon shuddered, then convulsed and collapsed.

Two down.

But the others were onto him now, and as the first energy ball smashed into the doorframe, singing the wood, Chris jumped out of the shadows, rushing through the room before ducking behind the grandfather clock.

That moment had been enough to gauge their positions, and two short bursts of magic sent the pair closest to him crashing into each other. Their heads made very satisfying sounds as they smashed into each other.

Just three more. Again Chris jumped, ducked and darted through the room, hoping that his erratic movement confuse them just long enough. They were staying well away from each other, now that they had seen their partners collide, and Chris nearly sighed with irritation.

Even the demons of this time were mild compared to his own.

While Chris deflected an energy ball back to its maker, he calculated the risks of keeping one of them alive – he wanted to know who'd sent them, and why, but his tk couldn't hold one of them prisoner for too long, and the crystals were all used for Hand.

That thought nearly cost him his life. His attention still fixed on the demons, Chris had disregarded his surroundings, and so he only noticed his mother when it was too late.

"What's going on here?" Piper demanded from the foot of the stairs, and while no one answered her, both demons reacted immediately, sending out energy balls that curved like lasers through the air.

Everything around Chris seemed to slow down. His hand shot forward and deflected one of the balls, setting another demon aflame. But even while his other arm rose, painfully slow, too slow, he knew that it wouldn't work.

His mother was standing in the line of fire, powerless, defenceless, and she would die. Because of him.

And then, she suddenly wasn't standing anymore.

From what seemed like nowhere, the small form of Hand _rammed _into Piper, sending them to the ground in a tangle of limbs and hair, and the energy ball harmlessly hit the railing. More from reflex than actual thought, Chris once more snapped his wrist and the last demon hit the wall before crumpling to the ground.

It was over. Only Chris' heavy breathing broke the silence. He still felt the panic surging through him, the blinding pain of another moment just like this, more than fourteen years from now, when his mother had been in the line of fire, too. And there hadn't been a Hand to save her.

He thought he'd dealt with that moment, had trained himself not to freeze and to fight on whatever happened around him, but just like this, it was all back, and he wanted to rush towards her and help her up, shout and babble and tell her how afraid he'd been. But that would only confuse her.

_She doesn't even like you right now,_ the thought hammered through his head, changing the pain and intensifying it at the same time. _She would slap you for hugging her!_

But that didn't change the fact that right now he wanted her to be his mother so much that it hurt.

Before Chris could calm himself and regain at least a semblance of control, Paige and Phoebe came clattering down the stairs. Could none of these damn women stay out of danger even for a minute?

Paige took one good look at the heap of bodies that was her oldest sister and their prisoner, then grabbed Hand and dragged her off Piper.

"Crystals", she demanded hastily, and the blue orbs of another circle formed around Hand.

_Yeah_, Chris thought, recovering enough for his sarcastic voice to comment, _'cause that worked so well before._

Phoebe, on the other hand, let her eyes wander around the room, taking in the destruction, the black burn marks from demons and energy balls, and the dishevelled state of Chris.

"What happened here?" She asked, "Did someone attack us?"

"Yes, Phoebe," Chris answered bitingly, and felt the rest of his shock melting away in his irritation. "Actually, that's exactly what happened. And since you three didn't bother to stay in the safety of your rooms, Piper very nearly got herself killed."

"You can't expect me to hide away when someone's attacking my _son_," Piper said just as bitingly, and again Chris felt the echo of that old pain rise inside him. She hadn't fled the house because _he'_d been there, all those years ago. She'd given up her life to save him, and what had he done with it?

_Not now!_ He told himself sternly and concentrated on the matter at hand. At least the war had given him plenty of training how to keep focused.

"I had everything under control until you stepped in," he argued, knowing at the same time that it was useless. "If Hand hadn't been there…"

"Yeah, but why _is_ she here?" Paige now asked.

On cue, all three Charmed Ones turned around and examined the girl in the crystal cage. Who promptly threw herself to the ground, face pressed into the floor, and stretched out her arms in front of her.

Chris very much wanted to hit something.

"I haven't the slightest idea," he said curtly. "Stand up, Hand. You're not with Wyatt anymore."

The girl didn't move. _Great_.

"Why's she doing that?" Piper asked. "And how did you get out of the cage, girl?"

If anything, Hand lowered herself deeper into the kowtow.

"Get up," he repeated, louder this time.

But she still didn't move.

"I disobeyed," she whispered against the stone floor.

"I know," Chris snapped, patience running thin. Piper had rushed to Wyatt and was soothing the crying child, the memories of the Event still made him feel nauseous, Paige and Phoebe were staring at him as if _he_ had done something wrong, and Hand's behaviour would bring about another round of questions if she didn't stand up soon. He needed a break!

"And we will certainly talk about how you got out of that cage, but there's no need to grovel with us. We won't punish you for saving Piper's life."

Paige gaped. "Saving Piper's life?" she echoed, then she rushed over to the cage and removed the crystals.

Chris winced. A free hand hadn't been the effect he'd been working for. But she'd somehow gotten out of that cage once already. And instead of fleeing or murdering the Charmed Ones, she'd chosen to save Piper – and him, if he interpreted her worried look towards Piper's belly correctly.

If this whole mess was anyone's fault, it was his or the sisters, not hers. So he took a deep breath, reminding himself that a leader needed to control his impulses, not give in to them, and walked over to the girl assassin still lying on the floor. He reached out a hand and touched her shoulder. She flinched. But when she felt no further pain, she looked up and met his eyes, unguarded and without hesitation.

He nodded. "Thank you," he said, once more offered her his hand and hauled her to her feet.

She smiled shyly, and it looked like a gesture she had trained in front of a mirror, to make it look naturally. It looked like he felt most of the day. And, leading her over to a chair, Chris felt a hard knot inside himself relax somewhat. Whatever else she was, it seemed that Hand was, indeed, on his side. It was a reassuring thought.


	14. The Scorpion's Nature

The Scorpion's Nature

"I would like to help somehow," Hand said after a long moment of consideration.

They were sitting around the kitchen table – all five of them, since the sisters seemed to have decided that Hand was one of their 'innocents' once and for all -, nursing hot drinks of various types.

Really, Chris thought with a faint echo of his usual annoyance, they were turning into a coffee shop, what with Piper's herbal tea, Phoebe's latte macchiato, his own strong black coffee and Paige's he-didn't-even-want-to-know. This sort of extravagance irritated him even after the year that he'd been living in the past, especially since the sisters seemed to take it all for granted.

But that wasn't his problem right now.

The girl sitting among them, clutching a simple mug of coffee as strong as his, however, was. And she was giving him a headache.

He had accepted that Hand obviously had no interest in killing him or the sisters, really, he had, but that didn't mean that they should trust her completely! You couldn't simply assume that an ally's moral code was the same as yours just because he didn't kill you.

Chris had worked with demons in the past, had been forced to, there had even been a memorable episode with him leading a contingent of darklighters, but that had only made him more sensitive to the difficulties of such situations.

No kind treatment would make her follow the sisters' moral code indefinitely. If she stuck to their methods, she'd only do so because she wanted to, and there _would_ come a moment, no matter what Hand herself might think, when the old routines would snap back into place, and then they'd have an assassin on their hands.

Even though said assassin was being fed with muffins and strawberries right now. Even though she looked like an overgrown child in the too large shirt Paige had given her.

"We won't let you use your magic, Hand," Chris said when it became clear that none of the sisters would make that point. Piper even looked at him critically for saying it, as if he had been insensitive.

"Perhaps she could help with the potions brewing," Paige offered. "I mean, a store of potions would be good if we're going against Gideon, wouldn't it?"

"Sure," Phoebe agreed readily and Piper nodded. Chris chose not to mention that _he _wouldn't let an assassin brew with poisonous ingredients in his own kitchen if his life was at stake, but they wouldn't listen to him anyway, and he'd had quite enough critical glares for today.

"As long as she still takes the magic-suppressant, is guarded by one of us and stays in the cellar at night," he agreed after a moment.

Piper rolled her eyes.

"Yes, Chris," she said with barely conceived irritation. "Anything else you want us to do?"

"Yes, actually," he answered, letting his own irritation show. "You can start planning. Going after an Elder isn't the same as cornering a demon, you know? As you are obviously rested enough to chat, you could start reading up on their defences and weaknesses, or you cold…"

"Or, since it'll be weeks 'til we can do anything against him, as you told us yesterday, I could use the time to be close to my _son_," Piper interrupted him.

Like always, that word stung like a pin being jammed into his heart, but, like always, Chris ignored it.

"We can't start soon enough," he protested. "We'll only have _one_ chance to get it right, and if he manages to escape, it could be months until we find him again!"

"It will go just fine, Chris," Phoebe said in that soothing tone of hers that always infuriated Chris. 'Cause it hadn't gone fine in the end, had it? Would she still be so complacent if she knew that she'd die, barely sixteen years from now, trying in vain to defend her daughters?

Would she still pat his hand and tell him that there were other important things in life? Sometimes, the urge to tell them about the future nearly overwhelmed him, but as they did every time, the possible consequences of changing the future stopped him.

They didn't stop him from scolding, though.

"You don't know that," he said, his voice rising against his will. "Elders are clever, they're very old and extremely powerful. We'll need every minute of the next weeks to prepare for this, and if you start chickening out of work already…"

"Oh, Chris, come on! Get a life!" Paige growled, rising from the table and refilling her coffee. She didn't even bother looking at him as she echoed the sisters' favourite sentence. Chris fervently wished that she was a member of his Resistance so that he could give her a dressing-down.

_I had a life_, he wanted to tell her, _a bloody brilliant life, despite all the demons and a non-existent father. But then you all died and left me, and Wyatt turned the world into chaos, and now there's no one else left to make it right again._

But instead of yelling, he stopped himself, as he had done so many times before, and restricted himself to an irritated eye-roll, his usual answer.

That was when he saw the confusion on Hand's face.

"Get a life?" She asked slowly, clearly never having come across that expression before. Slang had changed considerably over the past twenty years, and somehow Chris doubted that Hand had spent much time with non-magical humans while growing up.

Chris smirked, working hard to keep the bitterness out of his face and voice.

"She means that I should stop working and worrying all the time," he explained. "And especially nagging them about doing the same. Instead I should – what was it again, Paige?" He cocked his head in a good imitation of the wide-eyed innocence that had always worked on Paige, back before she died and he stopped being innocent.

Paige shrugged. "Dunno," she answered, not bothering to hide how little this discussion interested her. "Sleep in, eat more, go for walks, go on dates – whatever floats your boat, Chris."

Chris opened his mouth to reply something sarcastic – something very sarcastic – but Hand beat him to it.

"That sounds wonderful," she said seriously, her voice filled with longing, and Chris felt an answering pang, an echo pain that made him remember how often he had prayed for this, for just one day of peace, one day without the weight of the future on his shoulders. That had been before he had stopped praying for anything, of course.

"Getting a life," Hand continued. "So you could take a break and the sisters would take over for you?"

Chris took one look at Hand's serious, another at Paige's flabbergasted face, and just couldn't help himself. He let his head fall back and laughed, _roared_ with laughter, loud and clear and _very_ amused. He could feel all eyes in the kitchen swivel towards him, but didn't care. This was a moment to be savoured.

"No," he finally managed between gasps of laughter. "That's not what Paige had in mind, I'm afraid."

Hand was the only one in the room who had simply taken his outburst in stride. Chris supposed it was the result of spending too much time around madmen like Wyatt, but there wasn't much that could surprise her.

"But who else is there to do your work?" She asked, her confusion deepening.

Paige sighed, her expression clearly saying _God, we have another workaholic on our hands_, and answered patiently: "The point is that no one should work all the time. Even witches need to balance their life a bit, have fun now and then, you know? And although Chris seems unable to understand it, there are things more important than Chris' work."

Now, Hand was staring at Paige, wide-eyed, as if she had just said the craziest thing ever.

"No," Hand answered, speaking very slowly, as if to a small child. "There aren't. Fox is trying to save the world. What could be more important than that?"

Chris felt something warm spread through his body, a strange mixture of pride and gratefulness, the knowledge that yes, someone knew what he was doing, and yes, someone cared.

Then, Piper spoke up. "I know, honey," She told Hand. "And don't think that we take our job as witches lightly. I can't count how often we have saved this city from evil, but even if we fail now and then, we have to remind ourselves that it's not the end of the world!"

Hand half turned towards Chris, sending him a look that spelled something like _Are they really this stupid?_ Or perhaps it was _How do you deal with them?_, and Chris found it wise to end this discussion.

"You need another dose of the magic blocker," he told Hand in his command voice, and unlike the sisters, she reacted immediately. Carefully draining the last drop of coffee – one never knew when one would next get something as precious as real coffee -, she rose from her chair quickly and left the kitchen through the cellar door without another word.

Again, the sisters looked baffled, as if the thought of following Chris' orders without arguing had never even occurred to them. It probably hadn't, Chris thought ruefully as he surveyed them, but still he couldn't help himself.

"You three really _should_ start planning," he advised them, ignored their eye-rolls and followed Hand into the cellar.

In the Spartan surroundings of her prison cell, Chris allowed himself a deep, calming breath.

"You mustn't expect them to understand," he then said. "And you mustn't try to explain, Hand."

Hand sat quietly on her cot, hands folded neatly on her knees, and nodded without meeting his eyes. Something in her posture of acceptance touched him, perhaps because it was so wholly out of character for her. She was a fighter, after all, like Bianca, and Bianca would never have accepted anyone telling her what to do or to say. She'd questioned his commands and offered alternatives, and although she'd had a hard time with the other Resistance members at first, who took her for nothing but a demon, she'd never backed down once.

But for some reason unfathomable to Chris, Hand was obeying his rules and commands, she had risked her life coming to the past and again this afternoon, saving his mother and himself. She was following orders as if he were her general. And up until now, she had asked for nothing in return.

"Thank you," he found himself saying, quite without planning to do so. He wasn't sure _what_ he was thanking her for – her trip to the past, Piper's safety, or her defending his mission just a minute ago. But he didn't want to become Wyatt, who took obedience as something natural.

Her head rose in surprise, and her eyes were disbelieving as they met his, unguarded.

"I don't…" she began, then trailed off, obviously not sure what to say.

He waited for her to continue, but she didn't, just returned to her silent posture of waiting.

"Look" he then said, keeping one eye on the cellar door while he spoke. They'd have to have this conversation eventually, but he didn't want the sisters to barge in and learn things they really didn't need to know. "I still don't get why you are doing this. I can see no reason why you should have given up your position as Wyatt's right hand just to help me along, and I can't imagine why you risked your life just now, but I'm beginning to believe that you truly mean to help me. So thank you for that."

Now she looked positively shocked.

"But you must understand that I can't trust you," he continued. "Not yet, at least. Perhaps never. And if you want to stay here and help, there are a few ground rules that you'll have to follow, or this thing'll be over before you can say 'Lord Wyatt'. Is that clear?"

Again, she nodded, and again he found himself wishing that the sisters would behave just a little bit more like her.

"So, rule one: Never ever harm the sisters or Leo or Wyatt, or I'll stop your heart without asking questions. Rule two: Don't harm or kill anyone else unless I tell you to or they are attacking the sisters or Wyatt. Is that clear?"

Another nod, and Chris just hoped that she would stick to these rules. She couldn't possibly understand the intricacies of present-day life, and he really didn't want a dead postman on his hands. Though he wouldn't mind if Greg the fireman bled a bit.

"Number Three: Don't even try to play or trick us, Hand. Believe me, I'll know the signs, and I won't hesitate to deal with you if you're trying to fool us. Four: Don't tell the sisters anything about the future they don't already know. That includes my identity and Wyatt's actions, and especially what will happen to them. I'm serious about that: I don't want them to know."

He saw something like curiosity creep into her face. Clearly, she had questions. But again she simply nodded and lowered her head, an obedient little dog.

Chris sighed.

"And this is my last rule: You're not with Wyatt anymore. It's allowed to ask questions. I'm sure that Bianca told you how we handled things in the Resistance. Even if I'm your leader and you'll obey my rules, you can still discuss things with me. I won't punish you for asking."

For one moment, the whole madness of his situation rose before Chris' eyes.

Three days ago, his life had been normal – well, if you could call time travel, constant demon hunts and living undercover with your family that had yet to learn you would ever exist normal.

But now, he was the only witch with an active power in the house, he'd been handed the answer to his search on a plate, and was teaching Wyatt's most dangerous assassin the principles of freedom of speech. He shook his head in consternation. Fate _really _had it in for him.

"Why do you not tell them?"

Hand's question caught him by surprise, lost as he was in his own thoughts.

"Tell who what?" He asked absently while wondering how something like this had happened to him, again. Bianca would have laughed her ass off, if she'd been here, and cracked a joke about how Chris stole all of Wyatt's girls.

"Tell the sisters," Hand said. "Why you are doing this. Who you really are."

Chris' breath caught in his chest. How easy one forgot, living in tyranny, that freedom of speech had its drawbacks.

"It's easier," he answered shortly, his eyes once more on the door to the cellar. He'd _not_ risk them finding out. "If they knew, they'd try to draw me in closer and watch my every step. I couldn't make half the trips to the underworld. Plus, revealing they'd have a second son before they'd even conceived me _really _ would freak mum out."

"But they'd help you," Hand argued. She was catching on to freedom of speech real fast.

For a moment, Chris wondered if he should end the conversation. But then he'd probably lose any chance of Hand opening up to him, and that was a necessity if he wanted to find out her real agenda. Talking it was, then.

"Perhaps," he answered. "Or they'd be even more insistent that I enjoy life and concentrate on the good things."

The words sounded bitter even to him.

Hand slowly nodded, understanding growing on her face.

"And then you'd have to explain why you couldn't," she said slowly. "Not with that kind of future waiting for you."

_Yeah. Real fast_. Again, the memory of the Event rose before his eyes, and again, it took all of Chris' determination to force it back into the dark caves of his mind.

"How did you get out of the crystal cage, anyway," he then asked, because it was an important question, not because he desperately wanted to change the topic.

Hand shrugged, then stretched out her leg and rolled up the sweatpants Paige had given to her. A nasty burn covered most of her foot and lower leg, stretching up to her thigh. Chris had received enough energy-ball-burns to know that this one had to hurt like a bitch. But Hand didn't show any pain.

"It's easy," she answered his question, and rolled the trouser leg carefully down. "You just have to want it hard enough."

And Chris couldn't help himself but chuckle softly.

"Yeah. I guess I can relate to that," he said.


	15. Dedication

Dedication

Confronting an Elder was, it turned out, more difficult than most things they had done.

Phoebe's proposal of involving the other Elders – via Leo – and letting them solve their own mess had, unsurprisingly, been voted down immediately. It was more surprising that the loudest protest had not come from Piper, who disliked Elders by principle, but from Chris, who was, after all, working for them in his job as their whitelighter.

But it seemed that his paranoia was not limited to demons.

"Even _if_ they decide that they're on our side and do not protect him," he'd said in the fierce, decisive tone Phoebe'd come to think of as his "General voice". "They always do things far too slowly. They'll only move against him when he's long gone, and then we'll never flush him out. He's probably got several hiding places prepared from where he can continue attacking us, and we won't have an idea where he is."

So the only thing they could do, they'd decided over the course of several heated discussions, was to prepare a careful battle plan and confront Gideon on his own turf, in Magic School. If they found the right potions and spells, they'd have a good chance of trapping him, taking him prisoner and then taking him to the Elders (or something Chris had called _The Tribunal_ with dread in his voice) to be judged for his crimes.

It hadn't helped that their discussion had to be interrupted several times because Piper had lashed out at Chris, Chris had become too frustrated and orbed away, or one of them had fallen asleep at the table.

They were still drained from the spell they had used to free Hand, and though it wasn't so bad for Phoebe – her active powers had never been that _active_, after all -, the strange feeling of loss made aggression flow freely and easily.

Actually, she was very nearly happy to be without her powers – sitting around a table with Piper and Chris for that long would have given her one hell of a headache otherwise.

But anyway. Apart from Leo's strange absence (wouldn't he want to know what they were planning?), things were going well. Now they only had to find out which spells would be strong enough to affect an Elder and prepare a step-by-step plan. If Phoebe knew Chris at all, he'd probably draw them strategy diagrams and make them repeat everything till they knew it by heart.

Luckily, Hand was more than happy to help with anything she could and brewing potions in a tempo that had even Piper impressed. They had moved command central into the kitchen so that the sister who was on research duty could always have an eye on the girl. But after the first strained hours, guard duty had turned into more of a chat, interrupted by phases of studying.

Phoebe, who'd promised herself to take Chris more seriously in the future by way of an apology for her sisters' attack, had been trying to be wary of the girl-assassin, but that was hard, considering that she sensed nothing but eagerness, shy hesitation and curiosity from the girl.

It was almost too easy to forget her as she stood in the kitchen, chopping, mincing and stirring for hours and producing row after row of potions. She was impeccably polite, but seldom answered the questions Phoebe and her sisters asked (and they asked a lot, since Chris had gone back to mysteriously vanishing and reappearing at odd hours of the day and couldn't stop them).

But their whitelighter had obviously bullied the girl into telling them nothing, and Phoebe felt bad when putting her under pressure.

Besides, why question a stranger when you had a perfectly good sister to talk to?

"I wonder why Leo never is around these days," Paige remarked from her place at the table, where she was working through an obscure book from the nineteenth century (Phoebe didn't even want to know where Chris had got it from or how he had paid for it).

"I mean, he's busy being an Elder, obviously, but he's always had time when important things were going on, and this is _his_ son we're protecting, right?"

Phoebe shrugged.

"I think Piper and he had a row," she suggested. "I mean, she was behaving strangely the day after we swapped information, right? And he hasn't turned up since, and whenever his name is mentioned, she goes real quiet, as if she were still angry with him."

Something like a snort drew her attention to the work place where Hand was standing. But the girl was obviously concentrating on her potion and didn't even seem to listen to them.

"Sure," Paige agreed. "But, I mean, this is huge! His own son, threatened by one of his kind. I don't know what I'd do if that'd happen to me. How can he simply not care?"

"Perhaps he's tailing Chris again," Phoebe offered. "He was pretty suspicious when we last talked, and he hasn't trusted Chris since Valhalla. I'm not even sure if he likes him at all, these days."

This time, the clattering noise definitely came from Hand's workstation, and Phoebe turned around to offer her help.

"Everything alright, sweetie?" she asked, but the expression on Hand's face clearly answered her question.

"Leo doesn't like Fox?" Hand asked, as if it was the most unbelievable thing in the world.

"Well, they sure didn't get off on a good start," Paige commented sarcastically, and Phoebe had to laugh. The dramatic way Chris had turned up in their life, saving her from the titans like a true hero out of a fairy tale – that had been something.

She had even had a little crush on him, wild hair, sunglasses and all.

That had only lasted until he had started talking, though. After that, irritation had quickly taken over. And when he had manipulated Leo into becoming an Elder, effectively separating them from their whitelighter and Piper from her husband, well, that had cooled down all their relationships real fast.

"That's true," Phoebe agreed. "We're still not sure if he _did_ kidnap Leo and sent him to Valhalla – he never gives us a straight answer -, and since he split him and Piper up…"

Now Hand's face was the picture of utter shock.

"…split them up…" she echoed, and Phoebe _really_ wondered what the girl knew.

"Why are you so surprised?" She quickly asked. "Is it any different in the future?"

In an instance, just like a breeze touching the surface of a lake, all emotion was gone from the girl's face.

"Fox doesn't want me to tell you anything about the future," she answered, if that could be considered an answer.

Inwardly, Phoebe banged her head against the table with frustration. What was it about those future people? Didn't they get that they would change the future, anyway? With Wyatt no longer evil, everything would change, so what did it matter if they gave them a few tiny little hints (like the name of her future husband and children, if she would ever manage to acquire them)? They were professionals, after all! The Charmed Ones! They could deal with a little foreshadowing!

"Oh, come on," she said, and she didn't care that it sounded like a whine. Paige looked up from her book and grinned broadly, obviously expecting the new round of teasing for answers with the same curiosity Phoebe felt. "You don't have to do every little thing he tells you! He's just a know-it-all, you know, not the perfect and brilliant leader he makes out to be!"

Hand stiffened in outrage.

"Yes, he is," she said, unusually loud considering that she normally said barely anything at all. "If you knew what he's done…"

"Then tell us," Phoebe argued. "I mean, we know already that he works with the resistance and that he fights against Wyatt. We know that he came to the past and that his fiancé tried to kill him. There can't be much else!"

Someone not as careful as Hand might would have answered something like "That shows what _you_ know" – or that was how Phoebe interpreted the expression on her face, at least.

"I was told not to," she simply repeated, turning back to the potion she was working on.

Phoebe exchanged a slightly disbelieving look with Paige – how could someone as irritating as Chris earn so much loyalty? – and started to plan another angle of attack, but suddenly the sound and lights of orbing were filling the room.

Speaking of the devil…

Chris was filthy, his clothes torn and of an indeterminate, muddy brown, his hair nearly grey with dust. There was a long gash running down the side of his face, and a bruise on the other.

Phoebe jumped to her feet and rushed towards him, but before she could ask what had happened, Hand was standing by Chris' side, looking at him quietly.

"Krtaal demons," Chris gasped. "A horde of them. I need as many vanquishing potions as you have."

Hand was off immediately, darting to cupboards and back, into the cellar and up the stairs again. Phoebe stared at her for a moment, surprised by her sudden speed, then turned back to the more important things.

"What happened to you, Chris?" she askd, carefully touching the gash in his cheek.

Chris winced and flinched back from her touch. She decided not to take it personally.

"What do _you_ think" he answered, perhaps a bit too harshly. "I was gathering information in the Underworld, and this clan of demons has been working for a new power, one nobody really knows anything about. I was hoping to infiltrate them, but…"

He was interrupted by a bag that Hand was shoving under his nose.

"20 general vanquishings," she recited quickly. "Green bottles. Five fire bombs, red bottles. Eight anti-resurrection potions – had a problem with Krtaals once – just sprinkle them on the ashes, blue bottles."

Chris simply nodded, as if a perfectly prepared bag of potions minutes after he'd requested it was the most normal thing in the world, and rummaged through the bottles.

"What's this?" he then asked, holding up a bundle wrapped in paper.

Hand hesitated.

"A sandwich," she then said, very quietly, as if ashamed of herself. "You haven't eaten anything yet, today."

Chris grinned at her, half-teasing, half-affectionate. It was an expression so alien on his stern face that Phoebe found herself staring at him, shocked at how it transformed his face.

"You two really _were_ friends," he said cryptically, then orbed out with the bag and without another word.

Silence fell on the kitchen. Paige had let her book rest on the table with a thump, Phoebe slowly walked back to her chair by the counter, and Hand turned her attention back to the simmering potion as if nothing at all had happened.

Phoebe exchanged a glance with her sister, then squared her shoulders. This needed talking about, and _she_ was the talker of the family.

"You don't have to do that, you know," she said softly, not wanting to antagonize Hand. "You're a free person now."

Hand looked up. Instead of the caution Phoebe had come to expect, she saw honest confusion in the girl's eyes.

"What do I not have to do?" She asked.

"Act around Chris that way," Paige cut in, and Phoebe had to suppress a wince. Her sister's clear way of putting things could irritate people at the best of time. "Fawn over him, obey his every command, behave as if he was absolutely perfect. He's not your new slavemaster, Hand. You don't have to _serve_ him, you know?"

The girl met Paige's eyes, her face serious and unnaturally calm.

"I know," she said. "But I would serve him willingly, if he would allow me to."

"For God's sake!" Paige threw her hands up in disgust.

"How can you say that?" Phoebe whispered, disbelieving. "How can you _want_ to serve someone, especially Chris?"

Again, Phoebe could see outrage on Hand's face, this time tempered by something like realization.

"I forget that I am not in my time," she said after a moment. "You really don't know what he is, do you?"

_What_ he was, Phoebe noticed, not _who_.

"No," she answered, feeling that she was finally close to the answers she so desperately wanted. "And we'll never know, unless you tell us."

Still, the girl hesitated, her eyes darting from Paige to Phoebe and back, as if weighing the consequences of disobeying Chris. Her need to tell them won.

"He is not just part of the Resistance," she simply said. "He is its leader and its founder. When Wyatt made his bid for power, Chris rescued as many as he could and stood against him, even though Lord Wyatt killed his whole family. He built safe houses, underground havens for those who had to hide from Lord Wyatt's power. He trained groups of witches and demons to fight together and led raids of the prison camps when he wasn't even eighteen."

Hand's voice had risen as she talked, and for once there was nothing of caution or shyness in her stance.

"That there's still someone fighting against Lord Wyatt, that there are even witches and demons alive in my time that won't bow down to him, it's all because of Fox. He's brilliant, and dedicated, and never gave up, no matter what Lord Wyatt did to him."

She paused, and Phoebe found that she couldn't breathe for fear of interrupting her.

"In your world, there are many options, many ways of life, many leaders. In my world, there are only two: Lord Wyatt or Fox. He is the strongest force of good any of us have ever seen."

Phoebe wanted to deny it – not because she didn't believe Hand, but because she simply couldn't imagine anyone, especially not someone as young as Chris, bearing that kind of responsibility. As she sat there, staring at Hand's earnest face, remembering the countless discussions about their duty as witches they'd had, his obsession with his task, she finally understood that he hadn't been exaggerating.

His own world was hell, and he was carrying it on his shoulders, keeping it from collapsing.

"How can he do it?" She whispered, remembering all the times she had despaired, had come through only because of her sisters. To be forced to stand all alone, with your family dead. "He's so young…"

"He's doing it because he is the only one who can," Hand answered, as if that was explaining everything. "If he ever gave in to Lord Wyatt, no hope would be left for us. He's defending our future."

_Defending our future_, Phoebe thought numbly. He'd even come to the past to defend it, when all else had failed. And she and her sisters hadn't helped. They hadn't listened to him and seen what he was trying to do. They had just called him neurotic and gone back to their own lives.

"Why Fox," Paige asked in a strange voice. "Why do you call him that in the future?"

And Hand smiled, triumphantly and proud of the man she'd been willing to lay her life down for. The look on her face made Phoebe feel deeply ashamed.

"Because there hasn't been a trap of Lord Wyatt yet that Fox couldn't get out of," Hand said. "Because in the end, he will always find a way."

* * *

Review, please!


	16. Lies

A/N: Thank you for all your reviews! To answer a few of your questions:

_Hand gets through the crystals_ by simply sticking her leg through and bearing the burns that result. I always thought of these crystals as a very strong electrical fence – you can survive touching them, it just hurts like hell.

_What's Hand's real name_? That will be revealed at some point of the story, along with her past. Be patient, dear readers!

_When will the Charmed Ones find out about Chris' identity_? Why, when it hurts all of them most, of course. Isn't that how a good !revelation-story is supposed to work? *snickers evilly*.

_Will Hand and Chris start dating at some point_? I actually don't really know. What do you think? If some of you are violently against or for it, I might bow to your wishes…

* * *

**Lies**

Paige had taken to watching Chris.

At first, it had started out of doubt, or rather the refusal to believe that their bitchy whitelighter could be identical with the figure of light and hope Hand had described. Of course there'd been the possibility that Hand had lied – Paige hadn't completely forgotten whom she'd been working for, but Paige dismissed that thought quickly.

What would have been the point of making Chris appear in a better light? If Hand had still been working for Wyatt, wouldn't she have tried to undermine Chris' authority rather than help him?

Plus, the way she had looked when she'd told them about her future and Chris' role in it, the hope Paige had seen shining from her eyes, that hadn't been faked, she was sure of it.

And so was Phoebe.

Paige sighed, her eyes now on her older sister who was working through another one of the huge tomes Chris continued to drag into the house. They were hopelessly cluttering upthe conservatory and starting to spill over into the living room, and Piper's glares at them clearly told everyone that there would be words, soon.

But Phoebe was working through them as if it were the most important thing ever. Her fervor and uncomplaining willingness to work was not only confusing Piper but unnerving Chris, who had never experienced such cooperation from the sisters before.

But they had never known – how had Hand put it? – _what_ he was before, either.

And Phoebe, it seemed, was wildly determined now to support him any way she could. She had always been most open towards him, even when he had driven them wild with irritation. Perhaps it was her empathy side that had subconsciously told her to listen to him, or the simple fact that Phoebe had always been the least judgemental of the sisters.

But after changing her opinion about him again and again, Chris had finally won Phoebe over to his side. And it had only taken the impassionate speech of Hand's to do it.

Paige, on the other hand, wasn't entirely convinced, yet. Sure, Hand had _seemed_ honest, but hadn't Chris himself told them that they were all good actors in the future? And it would be just like their sneaky, obsessive-compulsive whitelighter to use Hand in this way. To make her tell them a story that would ensure their cooperation.

Not that Paige _really_, truly suspected him of that. But it wasn't in her nature to simply believe in another person, and so she had begun watching him, studying him for hints like she had her clients, back when she had faced lots of people with lots of secrets in her job as a social worker.

The results were immediate, and Paige began to wonder how she could have missed so much about Chris, how it could be that he had been part of their lives for several months now without them knowing anything about him, when just a few days of watching him brought her to the following conclusions:

First, Chris wasn't neurotic at all. He was paranoid, completely and utterly paranoid to a degree that made even the mad people in the streets shouting that the end was nigh pale in comparison.

He checked every room he entered for hidden traps. Now that Paige had noticed it, she realized that he'd always been doing it, so quickly and inconspicuously that it had seemed like normal hesitation when stepping into a room.

He whispered detection spells over everything he ate, as if poisoned food was a normal occurrence one had to prepare for. He always knew when someone entered the Manor (and always knew who it was – Paige had no idea how he did it), and whenever someone unknown would come up to the door (saleswoman, Jehova's witness, the postman), he'd tense, and his hand would creep towards the pocket of his sweater, where he was keeping his athame.

Second, he had quite obviously spent the greater part of his life in a war zone. It was clear from so many things, now that Paige knew and was looking for it, that she felt rather ashamed for never noticing.

Chris was _cherishing_ food in a way she hadn't seen before, not even with people who really liked eating. He was treating every cup of coffee as if it were his last, and she had once seen him carefully bundle up the leftovers from a sandwich and pack them away, although _she_ would have thrown them in the bin without a second thought. It was also obvious from the way he slept – or half slept, because no matter at what time she entered the living room, he'd sit up from the couch immediately and look awake, like, ready to jump up and run ten miles-awake.

She also remembered his reaction to their would-be-attack, and his reflexes, which were incredible, really. To prove her theory, Paige had dropped a glass while he was standing with his back to her, and had been slightly shocked by the way he whirled around, hands raised in an attack gesture to counter whatever had happened, then took in the situation with a glance and lowered his hands, putting them in his pocket as if he had meant to do that in the first place.

So, yes. Chris had the reflexes of someone always ready to fight or flee. It was a bit frightening.

Third, and this should have been clear to Paige from the very beginning, Chris was working himself like a dog. She had always known it somewhere in the back of her mind, but since most of what he did happened outside of the Manor, the sheer _amount_ and danger of it had remained fuzzy.

But now that he was actively searching for information they could use and reporting on what he found, Paige realized that he couldn't possibly sleep more than three or four hours a night, since he was spending most of it in the underworld, frequenting seedy demon bars, pressuring demons into giving him information and vanquishing those he considered especially dangerous. Sometimes, Paige wondered how he could still stand on his two feet after yet another twenty-hour period of work, and yet there he was, busily browsing through a huge book, in _Latin_ no less. She had absolutely no idea how he was doing it.

But the last thing Paige noticed, after nearly a week had passed and all their active powers were slowly returning, the last thing she found out with a mixture of surprise and shock, was how utterly _lonely_ Chris had to be.

Again, it was kind of obvious, but she had somehow never thought about it. Chris had no friends, no connections in this time. He didn't have a flat of his own, just the ratty backroom of P3, and most of his days were spent with researching or demon hunting. From the way he talked about the Elders, Paige very much doubted that he was interacting with them on a regular basis, which left herself and the sisters as his only regular contacts.

_And I could count the number of real talks I had with him on two hands_, Paige thought, shame rising inside her as she watched him quietly. _We never bothered to get to know him. Hand's probably the first person he can really talk to since coming to the past._

Not that he was opening up to Hand, observation number one prevented him from that. Although they had all decided that Hand wasn't dangerous to them, he was still keeping a distance to her, broken only when she made him angry in any way, or, which was happening more often, surprising him into a spontaneous reaction.

When that happened, the smile in his face and the softening of his eyes turned him into a different person, like the promise of a different Chris that had been buried under the mess of his future. It was a Chris she'd have liked, Paige thought, a Chris that was a far cry from the always nervous, often aggressive whitelighter they had to put up with, and the thought that Chris had been forced to abandon that other part of his personality in order of becoming the future's leader made her sad.

But more telling than her observations were the things she _couldn't _find out, Paige thought as she was watching him now. Chris was once again jotting down words and symbols in his black notebook, no doubt preparing the finer details of their 'attack plan', and although he seemed totally absorbed in his book, she knew by now that he was aware of every single person's position in the room, and would react immediately if someone moved too quickly.

After one week of watching him, Paige still hadn't the slightest idea what he was doing to relax (mostly because he never relaxed) or for fun (he didn't seem to have any). She didn't know what his favourite food was or what movies and books he liked. His clothes seemed chosen only to be practical and inconspicuous, and she doubted that he possessed a laptop or mp3-player or any of the things that were part of a modern existence. Considering that he was coming from the future, where they probably couldn't live without these sorts of things, he was living very much like a man from the nineteenth century.

And then there was another thing that bothered Paige, something that she couldn't really name, that sat in the back of her mind, whispering that something was wrong about Chris, that he wasn't acting _normal_ (well, normal for a time traveller from a war torn future). The way he was watching all of them a little too intently, the way he was expecting an attack, even when there were only allies in the room.

But it took a harmless incident with Hand that made Paige stop watching and finally _see_, and understand.

Hand was standing close to a bubbling potion when it happened, her attention diverted by the stream of questions Phoebe was once again directing at her. Those questions were of a very different kind, now that Phoebe had completely bought into Chris' way of thinking. Where before she had tried to tease future facts out of Hand, like the name of her husband and children or whether she would go on working as an agony aunt, she now asked about spells, wards and the future of the Elders – anything that could help them catch and neutralize Gideon.

Unfortunately for Phoebe, Hand still stuck to Chris' orders religiously and was refusing to budge even a millimetre. Fox would tell them if it was relevant for their task, she repeated, so busy with not answering that she didn't notice when the potion reached the boiling point and… exploded.

Reflexively, Paige reached out with her magic.

"Icky potion!" She called out and orbed most of the stuff safely into the kitchen sink.

But Hand had reacted even faster, ducking away and protecting Phoebe with her own body. Luckily, the few dollops of the potion that had escaped Paige only touched Hand's shirt, but that began to smoke and burn immediately.

"Take it off," Paige cried, having seen enough potions-related accidents to care for another set of burns, and Hand shrugged out of the shirt without a second's hesitation, exposing her simple bra and bare torso for both of them to see.

Paige's breath caught in her throat.

"Why didn't you get that healed?" She asked weakly, trying _not_ to stare at scars that criss-crossed Hand's upper body.

Hand just shrugged.

"Darklighters are more for the killing than the healing," she said lightly. "So we have to use potions or ask the few witches that can do it. Healing is only for the dangerously injured."

Phoebe recovered from the shock before Paige had, leaving the room and returning shortly after with a new shirt. Hand took it with a nod of thanks, but didn't hurry as she put it on. Modesty clearly wasn't a widespread virtue in the future.

"But some of those look pretty nasty," Paige pointed out, trying not to add '_and given intentionally'_.

Hand was already returning to her potion, obviously trying to save as much of the base as she could.

"That is what our world is like," she commented absently. "Pretty much all of us go through torture at some point. The Resistance has it much worse than the followers of Lord Wyatt."

At those words, something clicked inside Paige's mind.

"Pretty much all of you…" she whispered, remembering suddenly and with unusual clarity how Chris flinched at unexpected touches, how he always wore long-sleeved shirts, even when summer was hottest. How he had a habit of dealing with injuries by ignoring them until he could get healed, as if the pain of a broken arm wasn't worth stopping for.

Could that be the thing that had bugged her?

Before the thought and its consequences could fully form in her head, she was off to the living room, fuelled by the burning need to gain full clarity.

"Chris," she called, raising him from yet another perusal of the Book of Shadows. "Take off your shirt."

Had she been in the mood for it, she would very much have enjoyed the shocked expression on his face and the dropping of his jaw.

"What?" he asked. "Why?"

"Take off your shirt. Now," Paige demanded again, _needing_ to know even if she wasn't sure why. Perhaps this was the answer to Chris' strange behaviour, and if it was, things would change. They could work around their problems, perhaps help him get over the experience…

"No," visibly digging in his heels, Chris crossed his arm and looked at her stubbornly. "I won't undress simply because you say so, Paige. That's absolutely ridiculous, and I really wonder…"

But Paige wasn't interested in arguing now.

"Shirt," she called out, and the moment she held the garment in her hand wished that she had waited until they were alone.

Chris' body was _littered_ with scars. They were everywhere, thin and thick lines marking his body like a map of the future, some white and half-faded, some an angry red. Patches of soft, pink skin marked the places of old burns, and there was an area near his right hip that looked as if someone had torn big chunks of flesh from his body.

Looking at the evidence of wounds nobody, especially not one as young as Chris, should bear, Paige felt slightly nauseous.

"What happened to you?" she whispered. "Why…"

What she really wanted to ask was this: _Why weren't you protected? Why did no one keep you safe? How can someone as young as you have suffered so much, and WHY DIDN'T I KNOW?_

He shrugged. Just like Hand.

"Could I have my shirt back," he asked, and the sarcasm in his voice, the way he seemed to be totally unconcerned with the ruin his body was, drove Paige over the edge.

"No," she said, very nearly shouted. "I need to know what happened to you!"

His eyes thought hers, then, and widened with recognition. The aggressive line of his shoulders softened somewhat, and his voice was soothing when he answered, compassionate.

"Most of these are wounds I got from demon attacks," he explained. "I've been doing a lot of raids, most of our whitelighters are dead, and injuries happen. The big one on my right side is the result of an explosion I survived three years ago."

"And the rest of them?" Paige whispered. She could feel her own heart beating quickly, afraid of what he would say, and a part of her wanted to let it go.

But she had been a social worker for years and learned more things about human cruelty than she had ever cared for. The scars on his front and side might be caused by what he had described, but not the ones on his back. Those weren't simply scars of injury. They were too straight for that, too regular, and Paige didn't have to remember the backs of frightened little boys and girls to know what had happened to Chris.

Chris shook his head in his typical gesture of irritation, but he couldn't quite meet her eyes.

"Future consequences," He said quietly, and this time she was willing to accept it, but Hand by her side produced a sound of irritation– and when had she entered the room? Paige hadn't even noticed her, but there she was, with Phoebe and Piper standing in the background, both staring at Chris as if they had never seen him before.

"It is nothing to be ashamed of, Fox," Hand said, no emotion at all in her voice. "Many were tortured by him, and few resisted as long as you did."

In the silence that followed, Paige saw Piper's expression turn to horrified understanding and Chris' to seething anger.

Suddenly, she regretted her intervention. Very much so.

"What part of 'don't tell them about the future' didn't you get, Hand?" Chris hissed. "They do not need to know these things! Why can't you simply…"

But whatever he wanted to say, he was interrupted by Piper's voice, closer to a whimper than Paige had ever heard it.

"Him? You mean Wyatt, don't you? Oh my God, Wyatt did this to you?"

Chris sent Piper a look full of emotions that Paige couldn't read.

"I am sorry," he said, and Piper started sobbing violently.

"You see," Chris was still angry with Hand, but he was now speaking very quietly, as if not to disturb Piper further. "Knowing things only hurts them. It's better to keep quiet."

Paige watched silently as Phoebe took a still sobbing Piper by the shoulder and led her over to the kitchen, as Chris grabbed his t-shirt from her to shrug it back on, and Hand concentrated very hard on the floor, obviously ashamed.

She felt sadness like a deep pain echoing in her chest, and she wasn't sure what caused it – Piper's desperate sorrow at the monster her son would become, Hand's shame caused by simply telling the truth, or the fact that no one, no one at all, had asked Chris how he felt about all this, as if he hadn't been the one tortured by a member of their family.

Without planning to, she found that she was backing away from Chris and Hand, until she was standing on the other side of the living room door, hidden in the shadows. Her hands shook violently, and she very much wanted to hit herself.

What had she done? To Piper, certainly, but what about Chris? His face showed no sign of hurt or worry, but he was standing in the middle of the room, half turned away from her, very silent and absolutely still. What _had_ she been thinking?

"I am sorry," Hand finally said, breaking the silence that had fallen on them. "I didn't think."

Slowly, Chris woke from the rigour that had fallen on him, and when he turned his head towards Hand, his face was fixed in its usual disapproving expression.

"That much was obvious," he remarked dryly, brushed his hair back in frustration and threw himself on the coach.

Another silence as all three occupants of the room mused on what had happened.

"It's not your fault," he then admitted quietly, and Paige's eyes shot towards him in surprise. That wasn't a Chris-sentence. In all his time with them, he had never once hesitated to blame one of the sisters. And now he excused _Hand_?

"I know how difficult it is," he continued quietly. "You're doing good, all things considered."

Hand sighed, walked towards the couch and, after a short nod from Chris, sat down at his side.

"I feel like going mad," She admitted quietly. "Everything's _so_ different, and they don't seem to understand…"

"They don't," Chris said. Suddenly, Paige realized that he didn't know she was still there, standing half-hidden behind the door. He probably believed she had joined her sisters in the kitchen, and that single fact proved to her how much this situation had gotten to him. Chris wasn't usually someone to lose control of his surroundings.

"You can tell them a hundred times, Hand, but they'll never understand. They'll only hurt, but in the end they won't change because of it."

Again, he let his fingers run through his hair.

"And I can't really blame them," He added. "I mean, just _look_ at this world! Who could imagine that it would look like ours in a few years? The ruins and the constant smoke and the demons prowling the streets openly? All those people with their life insurances and cars and the greatest worry being what restaurant to go to tomorrow? How could they even consider that they'll run for their lives very soon, that they'll starve and die by the thousands? How do you make someone with a world as perfect as this understand such a concept?"

"But they're the _Charmed Ones_," Hand objected, and the way she spoke the words made them seem more than just a name. "Don't they know…"

"They are not _our _ Charmed Ones," he interrupted her, pronouncing the title the way Hand had. "They are young. There are so many things that haven't happened yet. We could just as well be from another planet, Hand."

"I'm sorry," she said again, and again silence fell on them.

Suddenly, Chris chuckled, a bitter sound, cold and disturbing.

"Story of my life," he said. "Wyatt gets to torture me, and now _I_ have to go and tell Piper that it wasn't that bad."

And hidden in the shadows behind the door, Paige swore to herself that she would never doubt him again. He might be different and he might bug her, but she finally began to understand that he was lying to protect them. And if it helped him and them, she could accept those lies.

* * *

I hope you liked it, please review! The next chapter might take a bit longer…


	17. Things Untold

Things Untold

Chris' heart was heavy as he left Hand sitting in the living room and walked over to the kitchen. This was exactly why he worked alone, while he kept all his cards close to his chest. This was why he had never played well with others.

Since he'd come to the past, he'd carefully considered every word he'd told the sisters, had planned for every eventuality in order to keep the balance between what they needed or not needed to know.

But since Hand had followed him here, that plan had been pretty much shot to hell.

And now this. He hadn't ever wanted them to know about it, and not because he was ashamed, but because to them these scars would mean something else than to him. They would only see the wounds and the pain where he saw his own strength and survival, time and again. They would see Wyatt's cruelty and despair because of it, where he knew that his brother could have killed him, time and again, and still hadn't done it. They would see the scars as weakness, a vulnerability, but he had always considered them proof that he was a survivor, that he had earned his place among the fighters of the Resistance and never backed down.

But he couldn't explain that to someone who hadn't witnessed the future.

"Piper," he said softly, not sure what else to say.

She was sitting in the kitchen, surrounded by her sisters, eyes swollen from tears and body heaving in great, terrible sobs. More than ever before he wished that she knew his real identity, that he could call her mom and embrace her.

But that wish only made him realize another thing, and the thought made his heart feel even heavier: He could never tell her, now.

For if the fact that her beloved Wyatt had tortured another man, a virtual stranger from their future, was enough to hurt her this much, what would the knowledge do to her that he had tortured his own brother?

No, he could never tell her, because knowledge such as that would destroy her life, and Chris could never do that to her.

"I'm sorry," he said again, not entirely sure what he was apologizing for. That he had forced this knowledge upon her? That he hadn't saved Wyatt, not in the future and not in the past? Or that he had turned into a son that only ever made her cry and hurt.

But what else could he have done when his world had burned and everyone had died?

Piper was trying valiantly to suppress her sobs, but the shock had been too great. The picture of her, crying like a lost child, eyes red and face very pale, hurt him in ways he hadn't expected. His mother had always been so strong, taking everything in stride. Now she looked just broken.

"No," she now pressed out through the tears. "No, it's me who should be sorry, Chris. I… What did he _do_ to you?"

Against his will, his mind flashed back to the dark room Wyatt had kept him in for months, to the stench of blood and fear and his own waste. He shuddered, unable to repress the memories of pain, and pain, and _pain_, but luckily Piper didn't notice his reaction.

"He wanted information from me," he said lightly. _That's giving a whole new meaning to the word 'lie', Fox,_ he told himself silently. "I wasn't willing to oblige, and I pissed him off. I've always had a talent for that, I guess."

The memory of his brother, barely ten, standing in the middle of the ruined nursery, his face red with anger. _No one can get to Wyatt like his brother_, Paige had always said, and boy had she been right. In many ways, there had only ever been the two of them. And when the rest had been killed off, by demons and by Wyatt himself, this 'them' had become something new, something violent and destructive, and they had made the world their nursery, fighting over a toy, and very nearly destroyed it.

"But…" Piper hesitated, and Chris could see that her terrible sorrow was slowly being replaced by something else – the need to know. "I don't understand, Chris. How could my _son_ do something like this?"

_Because you died on us, Mom. Because Dad upped and left us, too concerned with his own grief to see what it was doing to us. Because Wyatt thought he had to protect me, and then protection became control, and suddenly he wasn't killing anymore, he was recruiting. Because I was stupid enough to think that I could still talk to him. Because he had been waiting for me all along. _

_Because he _wanted _it. Carving the flesh from my bones, making me scream, making me beg – it was as if he'd been born for it. And he would have kept on going until my heart gave out, hurting me and healing me and mocking me, because he was my brother, and brothers never gave up on each other…_

"He wouldn't," Chris answered quietly, swallowing all other words that wanted out. "That wasn't your son anymore, Piper, believe me. Something happened to him, and the person he became had nothing to do with the Wyatt you raised."

_Wyatt's face, so close to his own. He'd been to weak to raise his head from the dirty stone on which he lay, to weak to wipe the blood from his face, and so Wyatt had dropped on his knees in front of him. _

"_It's you who makes me do this, Chris," he'd whispered. "Only you and your stubbornness. I want us to be brothers again, fighting side by side. If only you'd come to your senses and tell me where the rebels are hiding. Family before all, Chris. Isn't that what Mom taught us?"_

_And his own mouth, bleeding and hurting as he mouthed the words: "She was wrong."_

Piper took another deep breath, and Chris tried to steady himself along with her. This was harder than he'd thought, and the echoes of his past were rising steadily. He had to get out of here, somewhere safe, so that he could let go for a while. But he couldn't leave her alone with this.

"What did he do to you?" She whispered.

Chris had to suppress a bitter smile. _What didn't he do to me?_

But sarcasm wouldn't help with this.

"Are you really sure you want to know, Piper?" He asked, gently. "It wouldn't change anything, only hurt you more. I've come back to make sure it will never happen, after all."

She hesitated, then lowered her head, too ashamed to admit that he was right, that she was too weak to deal with that knowledge.

"I understand," he said just as softly. He had no right to mention that he'd hoped she would care anyway. If he had learned one thing in his time with the Resistance, it was that you couldn't force people into things they weren't ready for. You could inspire them, or prod and irritate until they gave in, but you could never make the decision for them without regretting it sooner or later. If Piper wasn't ready to deal with reality yet, he couldn't change it. Even if he wanted to.

Again, Piper began to sob, as if some unconscious part of her had noticed his disappointment. He waited silently, racking his brain for something else to say, something sympathetic that would take the pain away, but once again he realized that he didn't know _this_ Piper very well.

And perhaps it was best this way. Getting closer to them would only make it harder in the end. What use would there be in caring for her if he'd have to leave, anyway? Better to be cold and distant and leave the comforting to her sisters, who had always been so good at it.

Silently, Chris stood, shot one last look at the tightly knit family that he'd never be a part of, and walked out of the kitchen.

Hand was waiting for him in the entrance to the conservatory, far enough away to not have overheard their talk, close enough to step in at a moment's notice. In any other mood, Chris would have smirked and cracked a joke about her hovering over him. She was shaping up to be quite the bodyguard, which was funny, considering that the things threatening him inside these walls were of the nonphysical variety and that she clearly didn't know how to deal with things like that.

Bianca had been just the same, he remembered fondly, before the pain of her loss slammed into him again. She'd been ready to beat up anyone for him at a moment's notice, but the interpersonal stuff? Not so much. It probably came from being trained as a fighter for most of your life – your primary response to anything was violence, and the social muscles didn't get nearly enough training.

He'd never been a warrior, that had been Wyatt's role in their duo, but sometimes he could appreciate the feeling of freedom a good fight offered.

He couldn't stop a sad smile from flitting across his face.

"Bianca'd say I needed to kick some ass," he told Hand, and saw in the way her eyes darkened that she understood, both what he'd said and what he could never put into words.

She looked away, then cleared her throat.

"A bit of training wouldn't be the worst idea," she offered quietly, then blushed as if her words had been unseemly. "I mean, you'll have to take on an Elder soon."

_I'm not Bianca_, her body language told him. _But perhaps I can help_.

His first reaction was to refuse, flat out. He'd seen her in real fights, and even without her magic she was a dangerous opponent. He'd be mad to get into a confrontation with her, even if it was only for training.

But his body ached for things that would never be, for words that would never spoken, and drinking himself into oblivion wasn't an option.

So he shrugged. "Why not," he said, ignoring all the very good reasons why not, and orbed them both into the cellar to get his butt kicked by Wyatt's right hand. Life really had it in for him.

0o0o0o0o0o0

A/N: Not really happy with this chapter, but it had to be written. The next update should be quite soon, and the confrontation with Gideon is in the very near future. Stay tuned for action, more heartbreak, and a serious confrontation between Chris and Leo!

Oh, and review, please!


	18. Super Wiccan Ninja Lighters

A/N: Sorry about the long absence, guys! Updates should come more regularly now.

Originally, I planned this chapter to contain the first confrontation between Leo and Chris, but then I got numerous requests to show some of the sparring between Chris and Hand and couldn't resist the temptation. This chapter contains no real fighting (we'll come to that soon enough, cause I _love_ writing action), but I thought I'd give you a few hints of my interpretation of Chris' powers before we start:

As you probably already noticed, my take on Chris is that of a guerrilla-general. I haven't changed the powers he has in the series nor have I added to them, apart from the training I suppose he received from his aunts while growing up (it would be weird if Phoebe _didn't _teach him anything).

I think his main abilities are to think and plan, as is shown more than once during the episodes, and from his slightly obsessive way of planning for every contingency I've inferred that he values control very highly. So he's not so much a super-power fighter but a very precise magic-user and a brilliant strategist with a good deal of real-life war experience on top of it. I hope you agree with my characterization!

On to the story:

* * *

**Super Wiccan Ninja Lighters**

Two weeks passed while they honed their plans to catch Gideon to near perfection. Only now that they were spending so much time on a single event, carefully considering it from every angle and trying to factor in every possible development did Phoebe realize how much they had always relied on their powers as Charmed One. And on sheer, blind luck of course.

It was clear, however, that Chris didn't believe in luck, and considering his life (or as much as she knew of it by now), Phoebe couldn't really blame him. Though she did wish that there'd occasionally be something else to do than plan, plan, and go over the whole thing _again_.

It was partly this boredom that made her take an interest in Chris' and Hand's frequent excursions into the cellar. But if she was honest with herself, she was also dying to find out what the two of them were doing together, hour after hour.

"You're sparring down there, right?" She asked one afternoon when she saw Chris and Hand exchange a silent look and then rise from the kitchen table simultaneously. They had become very good at this sort of silent communication, which was especially surprising since Chris still kept his distance from the girl.

Now both of them hesitated, and Hand's eyes sought Chris immediately, signalling that she would follow his lead. She had been like that ever since Paige's unfortunate intervention, dubbed by Phoebe as the t-shirt incidence, passive and careful to match her reactions exactly to those of Chris.

Who shrugged.

"Yes," he answered, then hesitated and shot her a long look.

"You want to join us?" He asked, barely any hesitation visible.

Phoebe felt a ridiculous amount of satisfaction at this simple question. In all this time with them, Chris had never offered to share anything but research and demon hunts. This was a peace offering, a possibility to get closer to him, perhaps an answer to the acceptance she'd shown him these past weeks. Certainly a chance too good to miss.

She smiled at him, showing him exactly how happy his question made her, and he blinked, as if the open emotion confused him.

"Sure," she agreed. "Lead the way."

A lot had changed in the cellar since she'd last been down here. Hand's cot had been moved to the side, and one of their storage cupboards was crammed into the corner of the room, filled with row after row of potions. Phoebe stared at them in surprise for a moment – she hadn't realized just how _much_ Hand had brewed over the last week.

But then her eyes fell on the centre of the room, empty except for a square of training mats (and where had _those_ come from?). They had actually turned the crowded cellar into a mini-dojo, she thought with a bit of envy. Why had she never thought of that?

_Because you didn't even want to think about physical training after Cole_, she silently admitted. He had been the last one she had sparred with, the last one who had taken her abilities in that area seriously and been able to match them. She touched her heart, surprised how much the memory still hurt after the years.

Her eyes flitted across the room and met Chris', and somehow, she didn't know how, she knew that he knew her thoughts. His eyes soften, and he gave her a short, questioning nod, a simple gesture of understanding that she had never expected from him.

Surprisingly, it didn't cause the usual passive-aggressive reaction Phoebe had come to dub as her 'Cole-instinct'. She didn't find pity in his face, nor the awkward avoidance her sisters displayed when the topic came up. Just understanding.

_How well does he know me, to be able to do that?_ She suddenly wondered. This understanding didn't come from general knowledge of the sisters' past. It was a reaction towards a person one knew by heart, a person one had spent years with. _Had_ he spent years with them in the future? And if he had, why?

A month ago she would have questioned him about it. But she had learned a lot during the last four weeks, and so she simply smiled, and looked away. Perhaps he'd tell her, some day.

"Let's start then," she offered. "What do you do first?"

And suddenly, there was a new expression on Chris' face, a smirk so wickedly amused that she once more forgot herself and just stared.

"We stretch," he said, in exactly the voice her first martial arts master had used, and Phoebe couldn't help herself. She whined, long and loud and like a ten-year-old, and Chris burst into laughter.

As it had done before, the amusement changed his face, erased lines and created new, kinder ones. _He should smile more often_, Phoebe thought absently while watching him, but she knew him well enough by now not to say it out loud.

"What?" She asked instead, her voice taking on the playful exasperation she often used with Paige. "I hate stretching!"

The laughter subsided to a grin, but the amusement stayed.

"That was always my reaction, too," he answered. "And then Bianca got that fierce expression on her face, and actually raised a finger, and said…"

"Stretching Can Save Your Life," Hand fell in with him, and she, too, smiled, as if sharing the memory.

Phoebe chuckled but kept her silence, not sure how to deal with the memories Hand and Chris shared. To them, Bianca was obviously beloved, while Phoebe had only ever met her as a child and as an enemy. One day, she would ask Chris to tell her about his fiancé, but they would have to come a long way before that'd be possible.

So they stretched, instead, and Phoebe had to suppress acute jealousy when she saw how fluently Hand moved, how easily her body twisted into impossible positions. Phoebe was hard pressed to make her hands meet her toes as it was, and silently cussing all the way.

Then, when the burning pain of overstretching was slowly melting into the warmth of supple muscles, Chris jumped up from the floor and moved away from them into an empty corner of the room.

He began stretching his arms and wrists, showing nearly as much flexibility as Hand had, then flowed right into a strange set of hand and arm movements Phoebe hadn't ever encountered in any martial arts class.

First his fingers flicked, slowly, tapping out a complicated pattern, then he added a set of wrist movements that would have left Phoebe sore for days. She frowned, while still trying to touch her elusive toes. What use could complicated finger twitching be in a fight? It looked more like warming exercises for a magician than for a fighter against demons.

Then, he snapped his arms forward and twisted his wrists _just_ so, and with a gasp Phoebe realized that these were, indeed, exercises for a fighter. A telekinetic, to be exact.

Chris splayed his fingers and threw both arms wide as if to encompass the room, and Phoebe recognized it as the trick he used to blast as many enemies away from him as possible.

Up and down his hands moved, left and right. Chris shoved and pulled, twisted and sliced, and only the flicker of his eyes told Phoebe where he expected the move to land. There were gestures for everything, she found out with bated breath, from attacks with the strength to hurl a car away from him to the playful twirling motion Prue used to make, and all of it was done in perfect silence and graceful precision.

The sheer range of it left Phoebe speechless, and the dedication that had to go into developing control and speed like that once more opened up another facet of Chris' character. She had always thought Prue's – and Chris' – power to be especially useful, but this _mastery_ of what had been given to him turned Chris' magic into an art.

Every gesture was deadly, she knew that, and yet it didn't make them any less beautiful. As she watched him dance (there really wasn't another word for what he did), Phoebe realized that this was magic in a whole other sense of the word, and that she could watch it for a lifetime without tiring.

Then, suddenly, he stopped. He was breathing heavily, and his shoulders rose and sank with every breath. He brushed his hair back with one hand – and Phoebe would never look at his hands quite the same way again – and then turned to find both of them, Hand and Phoebe, watching him intently.

He blushed, a bright, embarrassed red, looking suddenly like the boy he once might have been.

"Err… should we start sparring then?" He tried to divert their attention from him, and Phoebe couldn't stop the broad grin that spread on her face. She had never seen her whitelighter quite so flustered before.

"Sure," she agreed easily. "As long as you don't use that superpowers of yours against me, buster."

He blushed even deeper, and Phoebe giggled delightedly.

This would be fun.

She found out how wrong she'd been only five minutes later, when Chris had sent her to the mats for the third time.

"Ouch," she complained, but he was all stern whitelighter again, no hint of the embarrassed boy left in his face.

"You're terribly out of practice, Phoebe, and your stance is catastrophic," he informed her sternly.

"Yes, Mr Miyagi," she complained petulantly, but accepted the hand that hauled her off the mats.

Only to land back on her butt less than a minute later.

Damn it! She jumped to her feet as quickly as possible and attacked him in earnest now. She wasn't the strongest person in the world, but she'd always been fast, and that certain extra-kick her levitation gave her made for better balance than most people expected. If she could just…

He blocked her fist, her elbow and twisted away from the kick she aimed at his knee. Then, before she could regain her stance, he _somehow_ got between her legs, sweeping them from under her and landing her back on the mats.

Damn it!

Kicks, punches, elbows – he seemed to know where her attacks would land before she even started them, and stopped them with an ease that infuriated her. He didn't even bother countering her attacks, as if standing there, blocking her every move was the perfect way to spend an afternoon.

She thrust the palm of her right hand towards his chin and upwards, only to be blocked almost absently. His eyes weren't even on her _hands_! He was concentrating on her feet instead, as if preparing to correct her leg work. Well, she would show him!

Fuming and completely determined now to show him, she threw a punch and then landed her special straight-from-the-hip-you'll-never-see-it-coming-kick. No one ever stopped that one. She'd even flattened Cole with it, and _he _had been a several-centuries-old demon.

But Chris simply twisted his hips in a peculiar move that not only blocked her, but very nearly sprained her ankle. Smirking all the way.

Utterly flabbergasted, Phoebe fell back a few steps.

"How did you…" she began, then changed what she wanted to say when his smirk grew downright condescending. "Who _taught_ you that, Chris?"

The smirk died away as if it had never been there, and his eyes darkened.

"Someone very much like you," he said softly. "She tried to prepare me as well as she could."

"So she's…" Phoebe was afraid to finish the sentence.

He nodded abruptly, a rough gesture that filled her with pain.

"They've all been dead for a long time," he whispered, his eyes darting through the room until they focused on Hand.

"You game?" He suddenly asked, and the girl from the future jumped to her feet immediately.

"The same sequence we did yesterday?" She simply asked and he nodded.

"I'll do it slowly before we start, okay?" He said and fell into an open, relaxed stance.

Settling slowly against on Hand's cot in one corner of the room, Phoebe wondered at the hollow feeling that had suddenly opened up inside her stomach. She had felt so close to him, one moment, as if he'd opened up and let her in, and the sudden distance was as painful as a slap. But why was that? Why had she suddenly developed not only the strong wish to help him in his task, but also to be close to him, to understand him and be understood? What was this man to her, this stranger despite all his time with the Charmed Ones? And how had she established such a strong connection to him in the short time since Hand had come to the past?

But all these thoughts fled her mind when she watched them go through their obviously well practiced fighting sequence. As Chris had requested, their moves were slow and very controlled, but their precision and strength were clearly visible.

Chris began, shifted his weight to the left foot and snapped a kick high from the right hip, slowing the motion in midair until his right foot softly touched Hand's knee. Phoebe gulped audibly. If executed with the right kind of strength, that kick would have shattered Hand's kneecap and sent her to the floor.

Next, Chris' left palm connected with Hand's nose, forcing her head back, before his arm sneaked around her neck and brought her face forward again, towards his left knee. A face treated like that would be shattered, and perhaps the force of the hit would have been strong enough to drive Hand's nasal bone up into her brain, killing her instantly.

Chris used his arm to draw her unresisting figure back upright (any opponent treated to this series of hits would have been at best unconscious now, if not altogether dead) and _rammed _his elbow towards her throat, aiming to shatter her windpipe.

Phoebe gulped again. Audibly.

She knew why Chris had smirked during his short training session with her, now. This was fighting on a whole different level from what she was used to. Their sparring had been serious, sure, but this was not serious – it was lethal. The one and only goal of the exercise was to kill, as quickly and viciously as possible.

"Right," Hand said, completely unaware of Phoebe's shock. "Now try it in real-time."

Any trainer would have protested against this, and Phoebe wondered if it wasn't her duty to protect the life and limb of Hand, who was, after all, a kind of guest in their house. But before she could open her mouth, Chris had nodded and snapped out another kick, this one incredibly fast and hard.

But Hand hooked her leg under his kick and unseated his balance, causing him to fall forward into a choking hold. She twisted her hip, and with this new leverage swept his feet from under him until he hung helplessly in the air, only suspended by her arm.

She looked calm and slightly disappointed.

"Not quick enough," she reprimanded, releasing a Chris that was red in the face and panting slightly. "Try it again."

He did try again, only to achieve a variation of similarly embarrassing outcomes, and Phoebe felt a satisfied smirk bloom on her face. Hand was wiping the floor with him as easily as Chris had put her on the mat, and she didn't even bother acting superior.

When Chris landed on _his_ bottom for the fifth time, a tangled heap of limbs Phoebe couldn't stop the snicker escaping her. Chris ignored her as he rose to his feet again, wincing slightly, but Hand sent her an irritated glance.

"This isn't good enough, Fox," she complained. "I've killed you eighteen times over the last ten minutes, and you didn't even land one hit!"

He shrugged.

"We both know that I wouldn't have a chance against any member of Wyatt's personal guard," he answered. "Not without magic. The aim is not for me to beat you, but to stay alive long enough to get my magic back or orb away."

She shook her head.

"That doesn't work," she disagreed. "It never does. You Resistance always try to stall, and you always get killed immediately once Wyatt raises anti-magic wards. It's no use, Fox! You have to _want_ to kill, or they'll kill you without sweat."

Chris' face grew harder.

"Like you killed John? And Alice? And Leicester?"

Phoebe felt the smile on her face dying. They were talking about real people, she realized, about friends of Chris who had died, about the way Hand had killed them. This was no training session that was meant to be fun and instructing. This was searching for a way to escape death in a no-win-scenario. A scenario that had featured Chris and Hand on opposing sights no more than a year ago. Suddenly, she was cold all over.

Hand simply nodded.

"Like I killed them," she agreed. "And like Wyatt would kill every last one of you, if you let him. So do you want to try this for real, now?"

And this time, Chris foot nearly shattered her knee before she could block him, his eyes dark and determined and merciless.


	19. Silver Laments

A/N: Me again! A happy New Year to all of you who celebrate it these days, and I hope you like the new chapter. There's still no _real_ confrontation between Leo and Chris in it (only a tiny bit), but this story has a mind of its own and I just follow along obediently, writing down what my muse dictates…

* * *

**Silver Laments**

Piper knew that they would have to talk to Leo eventually, but for the past two weeks she'd been procrastinating with the best. But when Chris tested both their active and passive powers three weeks after they had freed Hand, and announced that their strength had returned completely and that they could move in on Gideon now, if they wanted to, Piper found that her excuses had run out.

So she took a deep breath, pretended that she wasn't shaking in her boots, and called for him.

"LEO!"

She'd made sure that her sisters as well as Chris and Hand would be present for this 'briefing', mainly because she desperately wanted to avoid any talk about… private matters. They hadn't seen each other since that night, and despite the three weeks in between, her feelings were still raw and confusing as hell. She didn't need an extra worry, not right now when the future of her son hang in the balance, but still she felt like a coward.

She probably was a coward.

"LEO!"

As she began to wonder what the hell was taking so long, orb lights streamed down from the ceiling and coalesced into the form of her – former – husband, sheepish-looking and mouth already open to say things she didn't want to hear right now.

So she gave him no chance, and after the first minute of her little speech about their plans, Leo's face changed from sheepish to surprised to worried to professional.

When he finally got a chance to talk, he was all Elder/whitelighter, no trace of the husband remaining, and she certainly had no right to feel as disappointed as she did.

"So you plan to enter Magic School under a pretence, ward Gideon's office against orbing from the outside and then attack him with vanquishing potions and trap him in a special set of crystals," he summarized.

Piper nodded, surprised that even the short version of their plan sounded good. Normally, this was the point where Leo exposed the hair brained risks they were taking and warned them that even the Charmed Ones weren't immortal. But try as he might, even he seemed unable to find a flaw, and that made her feel a lot better.

"I'll come with you," he said instead, and when Chris straightened from his position against the wall and opened his mouth to protest, Leo sent him a sharp glare.

"That's something we won't discuss, Chris," he said, and the expression in his eyes made it all too clear that he still distrusted their new whitelighter with all his heart.

Then his eyes fell on Hand, and grew colder still.

"And we certainly won't take her with us," he added, gesturing towards the girl but keeping his eyes on Chris, as if expecting him to argue. Chris, however, just nodded.

"We won't," he agreed.

For the first time since they had freed her from the _servilis_, Hand bristled and decided to argue. Good. It wasn't natural to be so calm and obedient all the time, especially not towards someone as infuriating as Chris.

"Gideon is dangerous, more dangerous than any demon," Hand said fiercely. "You should use every fighter you have against someone like him."

"Only the fighters we trust," Leo disagreed coldly.

Phoebe opened her mouth, probably to protest that this wasn't fair – they _did_ trust Hand, at least enough to know that she wouldn't turn against them like that, but before she could defend her, Hand herself backed off.

What was it with that girl? Even now, after Chris had abandoned her and sided with Leo of all people, she looked at him as if he could do no wrong.

"Then you need better weapons," she said instead, a strange urgency in her voice. She turned fully towards Chris, and her eyes seemed to plead for something Piper didn't understand. "Do you at least trust me enough to procure them for you, Fox?"

For a moment, Chris hesitated and the girl's urgency grew stronger.

"You'll need every advantage you can have against an Elder," she half whispered. "Believe me, I know."

Chris' face grew grim. "Don't remind me," he said, and a whole silent conversation passed between the two. Piper wondered what that was all about. Had Hand fought an Elder in their future? It made sense, she guessed. Even the Elders wouldn't stand by and let Wyatt take over the world. But could even Wyatt have challenged the Elders and won?

(And obviously she hadn't made as much progress as she'd thought, for the idea of Wyatt fighting against good, destroying _anybody_ – it left a metallic taste in her mouth, and only the knowledge that they would stop it, soon, made her go on.)

Chris' nod of agreement distracted her.

"What do you have in mind?" He asked Hand, and the girl almost sagged with relief at his acceptance.

Piper could understand that relief very well. One could never be quite sure what Chris would accept or refuse, especially where Hand was concerned. Weird as it was, Chris had no problem vanishing into the cellar with her for hours or trusting her with the details of their plan, but would not allow her to leave the house or interact with people outside the immediate family.

He could talk with her normally, joke even, and then one little thing Piper hadn't even noticed would set him off and he would orb away or suddenly treat her as if she was dirt. Strangest of all, this erratic-neurotic behaviour seemed to make sense to Hand, or perhaps she was just used to mad people, seeing as how the future seemed to be.

Piper shot that thought down immediately. She had spent too much time worrying about Wyatt and his crimes not to recognize a dangerous direction that would only lead to depression. Instead, she redirected her attention back to Chris and Hand. NOT to Leo.

When had her life become this complicated?

"…in the backpack I brought back to the past with me," Hand was saying right now, and, judging from the careful look in Chris' eyes, they were still talking about weapons.

"Paige?" Chris requested, and Piper's youngest sister just nodded before stretching out her hand and calling for said backpack. Piper had noticed that both Paige and Phoebe had changed their attitude towards their young whitelighter completely, and she wasn't yet sure how she felt about that. But that was another one of those depressing thoughts.

Chris shot a long, considering look at Hand, as if wondering whether there was a bomb waiting for them in the nondescript black backpack, but then he sighed and offered it to her.

Hand took it slowly. Longing and fear battled on her face as he let her hands rest on the coarse black material. Piper understood that expression all too well – she had seen it on her own face a hundred times, in the beginning, when she'd gotten used to the magic in her life. Something in this backpack was precious to Hand, but it also connected her to her old life, that as an assassin, an evil witch. A slave. Her time in the past had been mostly detached from those aspects of her life, but now she would connect them, and she was as unsure about it as Chris.

Then, her expression changed to determination and she plunged her hand right into the backpack, retrieving a small roll of silky white cloth, decorated with strange ornaments.

It looked about as dangerous as a bathrobe to Piper.

"_That's_ it?" Paige burst out in her usual tactlessness, and Phoebe gave the expected snicker of amusement in response. But Chris didn't seem to notice either of them; his eyes were fixed on the bundle as if it was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

"Are those really…" he whispered, and Piper could see the pride in Hand's face as she nodded.

"Your original ones," she answered quietly. "I stole them from Lord Wyatt's armoury before I came to the past."

Carefully, as if the silk could crumble any moment – and what kind of weapon that fragile could be of any use to them, Piper wondered – Chris placed the bundle on the kitchen table and started to unroll it.

"I missed these so much," he whispered again, and with a last, tender touch, unwrapped a set of black, leather… arm bracers?

Piper stared.

"What use could those be?" She then demanded, because unless there were really powerful spells woven into the leather, they wouldn't help block anything magical, and what other use was there for bracers if one didn't run around with a bow?

But again, Chris seemed as if he hadn't heard her. The smile on his face was alien to her, soft and nostalgic, but strangely fierce at the same time. Without a word, he rolled up the sleeves of his sweater and fastened the braces to his forearms.

"They are still tuned to me?" He asked, and Hand, wearing the same strange expression on her face, nodded.

"He never let anyone else touch them," she said.

"Chris?" Phoebe now asked, as curious as they all were. "What are they? Why are they so important?"

And finally, Chris seemed to notice that he wasn't alone in the room with his new best friends, the bracers. The smile on his face widened as he looked at Phoebe, and Piper felt a strange sensation echo through her chest. That smile was… familiar… somehow.

"My brother made them for me," Chris now whispered. "To keep me safe. We both had them, wore them all the time. Look!"

And he raised his arms, bracers pointing at the wall opposite to him, and splayed his fingers in a peculiar gesture.

Suddenly, tiny silver objects hovered in the air around him, following the slightest motion of his arms. They looked exactly like the triquetra imprinted on the Book of Shadows, except that their points were overemphasized and wickedly sharp from the look of it.

Piper gasped, both because of their beauty and deadliness.

"Wyatt took them from me, years ago," Chris continued, his voice dreamy. "I thought he'd destroyed them, they are too dangerous to fall into the wrong hands."

He gestured, and the triquetras _moved_. Incredibly fast, incredibly precise, they darted through the kitchen, a swarm of lethal silver birds, following the tiniest of Chris' commands.

"They were forged with the strongest of vanquishing potions. Every wound inflicted by these kills a demon, and in the hands of a fully trained telekinetic…"

He swirled his right index finger, reminding Piper painfully of Prue, and the triquetras formed a column of silver, twisting around each other, swarming up and down with incredible speed.

"He often went to the armoury just to look at them," Hand now said quietly, something passing between her and Chris that Piper couldn't understand. "He'd lock himself in the armoury, and when he came out, he'd look sad, as if he'd lost something. And still, I think he was proud at the same time."

Chris closed his eyes, an expression of raw grief overtaking his face for a moment. Piper wondered if he was thinking of the brother he'd told them about, the one he'd invented the never-ending-pouch with, the one who'd made these. The one who was long dead.

Then, he opened his eyes again, and grief was replaced by determination.

"Thank you, Hand," he whispered, then his eyes took in the sisters again, the rest of the room, the past that was now his present.

"Let's go," he said. "Now. With these, I'm ready for anything."

Go now? Piper felt slightly overwhelmed by the thought. She wasn't ready, was she? So many things could go wrong, and this was their one chance…

"It's not so simple, Chris," Leo stepped in, and while Piper still couldn't look at him directly, she was thankful for the interference he ran. Sure, he only did it because he still mistrusted Chris like hell, but as the coward she was today, she didn't mind if it bought her time. "There are things we need to talk about before we confront Gideon."

Chris went from determined to irritated so fast it seemed slightly unhealthy. Really, the boy had more mood swings than an emo teenager, sometimes.

"Like what?" He asked coldly.

"Like these… throwing stars. You shouldn't use them. They are the weapons of a killer, not a whitelighter," Leo said sceptically, and Chris snorted.

"That from the man who can shoot lightning from his hands. Just like the evil emperor," he commented, and Leo frowned. He'd been dead long before the movies came out, after all, and his grip on modern pop culture had never been that good.

"I would never abuse my powers," Leo stated sharply, and the tension in the room rocketed up a notch or two.

"Oh yes?" Chris asked. "And what does that mean? That _I_ would?"

"We still only have your word that Wyatt is the evil in your future," Leo countered. "In fact, we still only have your word that there _is_ an evil in your future. And now this girl turns up conveniently and confirms everything you say and looks at you as if you were her messiah. So excuse me if I am a bit wary to let you near the Sisters with these kinds of weapons!"

"I _saved_ the sisters' lives when you were up there for weeks," Chris hissed. "And I will save Piper's son, who, if you happened to forget it, was once your son, too!"

Leo looked about ready to use that electricity at that point, and Piper wondered if she should step in. Chris couldn't know about her… episode with Leo, so it was understandable that he considered Leo's absence as a betrayal, but Leo had always tried to be a good father to Wyatt, and Chris' words _had_ to hurt.

But someone else was quicker than Piper. Without a word, Hand had stepped between the two men and stood her ground, silently watching Leo. The message was clear: _If you want to get to Chris, you will have to go through me._

And although none of them had seen much of Hand's fabled power, the expression on her face frightened Piper and made Leo back off. She looked as if she wouldn't mind an attack from Leo, as if, on the contrary, she would welcome it as an excuse to rend Leo limb from limb.

As the Elder regained his balance and stepped right back up to her, willing to take the confrontation to another level, Hand half raised her hands and fell into an easy stance Piper had often seen Phoebe use. And was there a smile playing on her lips? Leo took a step closer and the smile widened, and…

"No."

Chris' voice, sharp and decisive, echoed through the very silent room, and Hand blinked. Her eyes darted from Leo to her own hands, and suddenly she looked like the young, harmless girl again that they had gotten to know these past weeks.

Her shoulders sagged a bit and she let her hands fall, but she stayed right in front of Chris, blocking him from Leo, and she still watched the Elder's every move.

"This is useless," Chris now said, as if this whole almost-confrontation had never happened. "We can discuss motives and agendas all day, but unless you have real reason to believe that Gideon _isn't _plotting against Wyatt, we should get moving as soon as possible. And I don't see why as soon as possible shouldn't be now."

He didn't even seem to notice his girl-bodyguard still running interference between him and Leo, as if having a protective shadow was an everyday occurrence for him. Perhaps it _had_ been, Piper thought. In the future.

Leo seemed ready to argue Chris' point. Piper wondered what his problem was. Sure, he hadn't seen them plan and prepare their capture of Gideon, and he hadn't been there when they tested the potions and modified crystals, but usually he trusted them in those areas, trusted them to be the Charmed Ones and do the right thing when necessary.

Was he doubting them, now? Had he been an Elder too long to understand how they worked? Or had he picked up Piper's own indecision, and was acting on it to give her time?

And suddenly, without knowing how it had happened, the veil of fear, which had spread between Piper and the world ever since she had heard Chris talk about Wyatt's evil reign, ripped in two.

She was so sick of it! Sick of being afraid all the time, sick of wondering what she had done wrong or what she would do, of how she could fail her son so badly that he'd abandon all their ideals. She didn't use to be like this, always worried, always questioning herself. Once she'd gone out and _done_ something about it, instead of hiding in the nursery and thinking about what-ifs.

"Chris is right," she found herself saying. "Every day increases the risk that Gideon finds out something, or that he moves against us. We should do it now."

She saw that her sisters were nodding. They, too, were ready for this, had probably been ready long ago, but as the good sisters they were, they had waited for her to conquer her fears and decide. It was time to be the Charmed Ones again, to find consolation in her own power.

Leo was frowning again. Perhaps he had noticed her mood change, or perhaps he was still hung up on Chris and his mysterious weapons.

"Are you sure?" he asked. The last time he'd seen her, she'd been crying in his shirt. Among other things.

But she was a strong person, and it wouldn't do to forget that. Piper's heart was hammering wildly, but she nodded

"Yes," she said. "I am sure and I'm ready. Let's kick some Elder-ass."

This needed to be done, the sooner the better.

And so they left to confront the evil that would turn her son and destroy the world.

* * *

A/N: The movie with the evil emperor is, of course, Star Wars. I hope you liked it, and if things go as planned, you can expect another quick update next week!


	20. Contempt

**Contempt**

_Leo was frowning again. Perhaps he had noticed her mood change, or perhaps he was still hung up on Chris and his mysterious weapons. _

"_Are you sure?" he asked. The last time he'd seen her, she'd been crying in his shirt. Among other things. _

_But she was a strong person, and it wouldn't do to forget that. Piper's heart was hammering wildly, but she nodded_

"_Yes," she said. "I am sure and I'm ready. Let's kick some Elder-ass."_

_This needed to be done, the sooner the better. _

_And so they left to confront the evil that would turn her son and destroy the world. _

* * *

Only to be back in the kitchen twenty minutes later. Great.

They had orbed into the library and been greeted by one of the teachers. Piper had claimed – exactly as they had planned it – that they needed Gideon's help with researching an unknown demon, and the teacher had happily waved them on.

There had been no one in the corridor leading to Gideon's office and Phoebe and Paige had placed the spells to trap an Elder quietly and perfectly. Then they had burst into the room, ready to face an Elder and end this once and for all.

Their plan had worked perfectly.

Except for one thing.

Gideon's office had been empty, his shelves and cupboard cleaned of anything that might have given them a hint about his plans or whereabouts.

He was gone. Simple as that. And they had stormed in with their potions and crystals, hands raised to attack and determination sharpened like a point, and had stood there like fools, threatening a desk with a few school reports on it.

"He must have found out about our plans," Chris now said, his face _white_ with anger and frustration. Phoebe looked about the same, and Paige looked as if she wanted to smash something. Piper felt just numb. Cold and desperate and numb. "You must have let something slip!"

Leo was trying valiantly to hold unto his Elder calm, but it was wearing terribly thin by now. The tension between them had be thick ever since Leo had called Chris' triquetras the 'weapons of a killer', and when they had found Gideon's empty office, all of their frustration had turned on each other. They had traded a look that said it all, each blaming the other for this disaster, and Piper was just glad that they hadn't fought it out there and then.

"_I_ didn't let anything 'slip'," Leo growled back. He had his 'I'm very, very angry but try to be reasonable'-face on, and Piper wanted nothing more than go to her room and leave them to it. Leo always failed when he tried to be calm, and irrevocably followed the failure up with lots of ominous warnings and whitelighter bashing. She did not need that, right now.

"Who did you talk to, then?" Chris demanded. "You must have given them a hint, or Gideon wouldn't have expected us!"

"Perhaps he didn't expect us, at all," Phoebe offered in a vain (hadn't she learned from their past confrontations?) effort to calm them down. "Perhaps he had another reason to vanish?"

Chris snorted. "Yeah, sure. He gave up the perfect base of operations just because the fancy struck him. With a position like that, and your trust, he could have gained entrance to the family easily, and then Wyatt would have been directly in his reach. No one gives up a chance like that!"

"Sounds very much like the way _you_ gained entrance to the family," Leo threw in, his jaws pressed together so tightly he could barely get the words out. "I seem to remember that you even went a step farther and kidnapped me, to make them dependent on me."

"God damn it, Leo, can't you let go of the past for just one minute?" Chris yelled. "I'm trying to save your son here, and our target has suddenly vanished! Don't you think there are more important things to worry about right now than your conspiracy theory about Valhalla is right?"

Surprisingly, this little speech got through to Leo, even though both were standing opposite each other as if they were about to start a fistfight.

Leo's shoulders were drawn up, and his hands were clenched to fists. But he _was _thinking now.

"I chose a few trustworthy Elders," he said slowly, trying to remember exactly what he'd done. "Talked to them about Elder powers and if they had ever been abused. And then… I think I asked about Gideon and why he'd been so busy in the past weeks. No one had seen him much…"

"You asked _both questions_ at the _same time?_ The _same Elders_?" Chris seemed less angry now than shocked, as if he just couldn't believe such stupidity, not even from Leo. The expression on his face was quite ugly, Piper thought, arrogance mixed with something looking very much like hate, and a disappointment that lay deeper than even his past with Leo could explain.

"The Elders are the greatest good of our world," Leo explained, trying for patience. "They are _safe_. I was carefully when I asked my questions, but there's no reason to expect…"

"NO ONE IS SAFE, Leo," Chris yelled again. "Especially not the Elders! They have turned on us, and they will turn on us again! Why don't you get that?"

"What _you_ don't seem to get, Chris," Leo said, his voice now icy and vicious. "Is that there is no 'us'. You don't belong to us, and instead of blaming everything on the Elders, you had better examine your own deeds. What demon friends did you talk to about this, hmm? What seedy little bars and get-togethers do you visit when you spent so much time in the underworld? Perhaps you should be blaming yourself, _whitelighter_."

Chris went from white to red and opened his mouth to answer with even greater insults, when, impossibly, he stopped himself. He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, hard. Then he started something Piper recognized as the breathing exercises an ex-boyfriend had recommended to her to control her temper. Incredibly, they worked with Chris. When he stopped taking long, measured breaths, he was almost back to normal again. A.k.a. bone-tired, neurotic and much too pushy.

"This is no use," he said, sounding not like he would use his shiny new triquetras any moment, but like he always did when Leo was around. "We can tear into each other all day, but what's important now is that we find Gideon as quickly as possible. He will use every hour we wait to build up his defences, and, believe me, it will be difficult enough to get at him as it is. Now, if you don't mind, I'd _recommend_ that Leo inform the Elders fully about what happened, to make sure that the _good guys_ don't go and help him hide from us, and I will use my _demon friends_ to find out where he's buried himself. Would that be _acceptable_ to you all?"

The sarcasm was shining through like hell, of course, but still Piper was impressed. To go from absolute infuriation to this kind control, all because ones goals were more important than ones feelings, that was quite a feat. For a moment, she was glad that Chris stood on their side.

Leo wasn't.

"I will inform the Elders later," he said gravely, trying to get control of the situation back. "First, I need to talk to the sisters." _Alone_, he meant and didn't need to say.

For a moment, Chris' face twisted into a grimace of sheer loathing. He surely knew the one thing Leo would want to talk about – Chris' untrustworthiness, his shifty ways, his failings as a Whitelighter. But again, he controlled himself and loathing turned into mere irritation and exhaustion.

"Sure," he said, not even sarcastic anymore. "If these are your priorities, conspire away. I'll be doing my work." And he orbed away.

For a moment, all was quiet as Piper and her sisters stared at Leo and each other. Then, Hand shifted behind the kitchen counter where she had waited for him.

"What happened?" she asked quietly.

Piper took a look at her half hopeful, half worried face, and felt immediately guilty. Hand's future life depended on the success of their mission, too, and yet they hadn't even bothered informing her.

"He was gone," she said, calmly. "He'd cleaned the office of anything that could give us a clue to his plans or new whereabouts, and Chris said that there was residue of several powerful artefacts he must have taken with him, too."

Leo scoffed. "As if we could trust Chris," he murmured.

Piper saw Hand bristle again, but this time it was Phoebe who stepped in, her voice strong and decisive.

"That simply isn't fair, Leo," she said. "Chris has done a lot for us, and not only in the past months. He's here to save Wyatt, and he's worked so hard you wouldn't believe it!"

Leo, unsurprisingly, wasn't convinced.

"That's what he wants to make you believe," he said. But Paige shook her head.

"No," she disagreed. "That's what he _does_, Leo. We've seen him work these past weeks, and we've learned a few things about him. He might not tell us everything, but he's honest about his reasons. We _can_ trust him."

"Look," Leo said. "All I'm saying that you shouldn't trust him with _everything_. He's lied to us before, and who knows if he has another, hidden agenda he's told no one about?"

There was a pause, filled with all the things that had happened since Hand stepped through the portal, and then Hand herself stepped in.

"If you had seen the future, you would trust him with your life. Fox is here to save your son," she said quietly. "You must believe him. You must help."

Leo shot her a long, assessing look. He hadn't been happy about Hand's role in all this, not when she had first appeared and certainly not when they had briefed him earlier today and told him everything that had happened since. His suspicions of her wasn't as personal as the distrust he harboured for Chris, but it was obviously there.

And how could it not? Piper asked herself in an effort to remain neutral. Leo hadn't spent the last weeks with them, he hadn't seen Hand suffer as the _servilis_ was lifted, he hadn't watched her save Piper's life, and he certainly hadn't experienced her dogged loyalty, her effort to help and blend into their plans as well as she could. For him, she was still the mysterious girl assassin of the first night, the one that had appeared in the attic without warning and finally convinced them all that Wyatt was, indeed, evil.

For him, she was still a potentially dangerous bringer of bad news, not an innocent. And that was how he treated her.

"We _must_ nothing, girl," he corrected her. "And we especially _must_ not believe you blindly, just because you stepped out of a portal. From all we know, you could still be a co-conspirator of Chris, and this whole thing could be designed just to divert suspicion from him."

Hand's body stiffened, and her voice turned very cold. She reminded Piper of Chris.

"There is no reason to divert suspicion," she very nearly hissed. "Fox has done nothing wrong, and that you of all people can dare work against him…"

"And what does that mean, exactly?" Leo was shouting now, fed up with the continual hints about his future misdeeds. Piper could have sympathized, if she hadn't been so completely fed up with Leo's behaviour. "I am sick of being continually criticized by people as immoral and malicious as Chris or you! Stop hinting and say it out loud, if you dare!"

"Fox is here to correct your mistakes! If you had been a better father, if you had been _there_ for them when they needed you…"

"I _am _a good father," Leo roared. "I'm doing everything I can! I…"

"Yes," Hand interrupted him icily. "I can see how well _that_ is turning out. It's a good thing Fox is here."

"And who are you to judge me?" Leo shouted, and Piper began to think very hard on a way to stop all this. Only Leo seemed completely out of control, now, and Hand showed no sign to back down. "I am an _Elder_, I serve good the best way I can, and you are nothing but a murderer, a slave to evil, if we can believe a word you are saying! And now you're allying yourself with Chris, who lies whenever he opens his mouth, well that's a great step forward!"

Now it was Phoebe who hissed, and Paige looked totally shocked. She had always known that Leo disliked Chris, but the open hate twisting his face now was something else entirely. She half expected Hand to attack him, considering how aggressively she reacted to criticism of her 'Fox', but instead she visibly calmed, just the way Chris did when a situation was threatening to escalate.

Her gaze was assessing as she swept over Leo's body, took in his anger and threatening stance, and then she smiled, a thin lipped, cruel smile, and for the first time in ages Piper saw the assassin in her, the ruthless manipulator Chris had talked about, and knew that her next words would be hitting below the belt.

"Lord Wyatt always talked about you with contempt in his voice," she calmly said. "Now I understand why."

Leo's face went white, then red with anger. Piper felt her insides turn to ice and the pain threatening to consume her, but things were spinning out of control fast, and she had no time for her personal traumas right now.

Leo was raising his hands, lightning crackled on in his fingertips, and Hand was crouching low into a fighting stance, as if she had _any_ hope to stand against an Elder, and then…

Orb lights filled the kitchen, and Chris materialised directly between the girl and the Elder.

For the first time since this whole misery had begun, Piper was honestly glad to see him..

"Looks like we're in luck," he began without taking in the situation. "I found a demon who told me… what's going on here?"

He took in Leo's raised hands and the blue electricity, stared in surprise, swept his eyes over the sisters in various states of shock, and over Hand, preparing to defend herself without even the smallest weapon.

And for a reason Piper couldn't begin to understand, she was the one he aimed his 'I'm-a-whitelighter-and-know-better'-expression at.

"Stop that immediately," he told her sternly, as if there wasn't an Elder threatening her. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Hand's defending your honour," Paige answered, aiming for funny but somehow sounding serious all the same.

Hand simply nodded. She didn't seem apologetic, but she _did_ rise form her crouch and turned fully towards Chris, ignoring Leo completely just as he had done. Were these future people completely mad? Blue electricity, anyone!

"The things he says about you are vile, Fox," Hand said quietly. "When he of all people should be thankful…"

"Future consequences," Chris interrupted her absently, but looked a bit more understanding. Well, he should, Piper thought with slight hysteria. After all, goading Leo was probably Chris' only hobby in this timeline.

Chris now returned his attention to Leo, who looked a bit confused and a lot less aggressive than a minute before. Chris' expression was disapproving and a bit reproachful. _We're all adults here, the rest of us,_ his eyes seemed to say. _Why can't you at least _pretend_ to be one, too, Leo?_

"And it doesn't matter. I wouldn't expect anything else from him."

There was something there, Piper decided, some old pain, older than their conflicts in this timeline, half healed but never forgotten. But then it was likely that Leo and Chris had met before in the future, wasn't it? If Leo was still an Elder, Chris would take orders from him as a whitelighter, and considering how incompatible their possibilities seemed to be, history (or future) between them didn't surprise Piper a bit.

"But what does matter is that you need to control yourself better, Hand. You promised me something, and if I can't even trust you to stick to the rules in this house, how can you ever expect to be let out of it?"

Again, Hand bristled (perhaps she was finally developing a will of her own).

"I will not stand idly by and let others speak ill of you," she said hotly, but again, Chris simply shook his head.

"You will if it is necessary," he said. "And we can't waste any more time on this. I've found Gideon's hiding place."

And, just like that, the noise level in the kitchen exploded.

* * *

A/N: Sorry, sorry, I know many of you expected the Gideon-confrontation in this chapter, but I'm building up to something big here, so you'll have to wait a bit longer. The story's pace will increase from here on, and I'll try hard to maintain a quicker update schedule. Action ahead, guys!


	21. Code of Honour

**Code of Honour**

After Chris had explained and re-explained his news, Leo finally left for the Elders. Phoebe wasn't the only one to be relieved, judging from Chris' and Paige's expression. Even Piper didn't seem to mind that her ex-husband and ex-whitelighter had once again vanished, but then the situation held enough tension without the explosions Chris and Leo caused whenever they confronted each other.

Besides, they had better things to do than question the two men's motives. Gideon's relocation had changed everything, and they'd need to come up with a new plan before, as Chris phrased it, Gideon dug in and this turned into Passchendaele – whatever that was.

With a swish of his wrist, Chris had a large piece of paper sailing over to the living room table, drew a pen from his sweater pocket and started drawing. Even this crude, hasty representation was enough to show them that the situation had changed dramatically.

"This is the cave system Gideon seems to have taken over," Chris explained. "I do not know how many demons he recruited exactly, but we can't expect to be in luck. As you see, there's a main cave, about as large as a football field, connected to a whole lot of smaller caves. We have no hope of blocking all these entrances, and that makes us vulnerable. We also can't hope to trap Gideon in this room as we could have with the wards around his office. The best thing we can do is plant a ward against orbing in one of the smaller caves and try to trap him as quickly as possible. We'll also need a whole wagonload of vanquishing potions, since we have no idea what type of demons we'll be up against…"

He broke off, suddenly, and shook his head in an angry, abrupt motion.

"Something wrong?" Phoebe asked. He shrugged as if to brush it away, then obviously rethought.

"I don't like this," he answered, meeting her eyes openly, as if she were an equal, a comrade, not just an irritation to him. "It would mean going in blind, and we can't be sure how long Gideon has prepared this. It could all be a trap…"

"So these are the famous leadership qualities of Fox?" Leo asked, and the sisters jumped in surprise. They hadn't noticed his return. Chris however only half turned around and gave him an irritated glare, obviously neither surprised by Leo's presence nor his antagonism.

"Back so soon," he said, and only a tiny bitter note in his voice told them that he wasn't happy about it.

Leo just nodded. He seemed satisfied about something, Phoebe thought, almost _smug_, even though an Elder wasn't supposed to experience that kind of baser feeling.

"I have informed the Elders," he told them. "And they have decided to station me down here, with you, for the time being. Gideon is a very real threat, and you need the best whitelighter you can get."

One glance towards Chris, as smug as could be, said it all, and Phoebe wanted to _slap_ her ex-brother-in-law. Couldn't he see how hard Chris was working?

But Chris didn't share her indignation.

"Good," he said calmly. "We need every help we can get with this."

And that was Chris all over, Phoebe thought as she watched their current whitelighter make space for their former one and repeat the information he had already given them. He might hate Leo, but he was first and foremost devoted to his job, and Leo _was_ a valuable addition to their group.

So Chris would shove away his own hurt and indignation, just as he was doing now, and concentrate on the things that were more important. As he had done with Hand.

And the best thing they could do for him, Phoebe realized, was to play along and pretend that ugly confrontation in the kitchen hadn't taken place. So she stepped to Chris' side, and concentrated on their makeshift-map again.

"Is there any way to reduce the risk, then?" She asked, taking up Chris' thought as if the interval hadn't happened. "Can we scout the area, or something?"

Chris sent her a surprised but thankful look.

"It's difficult," he then said. "We _could_ try to find out more, but that would risk Gideon noticing us and moving his operation again. Or it could mean giving him more time and allowing him to create better traps for us…"

"We could try scrying the area," Paige chimed in. "I mean, he's probably warded against that sort of thing, but if we got creative…"

"Yes," Chris agreed. "We definitely should try that, but the risk remains."

He paused and looked up at them, meeting each sister's eyes in turn.

"It's your decision," he then said. "I can help develop the plan and I will certainly fight with you, but you three are our main magical power. So you decide."

Phoebe shared a look with her sisters. They were all tense, very aware of how important this moment was, and even Paige looked completely serious for once.

Then, Hand stepped up to the table, her eyes, too, on the map.

"There is one other possibility," she said quietly.

But Chris shook his head, immediately, as if the same possibility had already occurred to him.

"No," he said. "This is not our timeline, and I won't resort to such measures."

Hand looked relieved, but Phoebe only felt confusion.

"What measures?" she asked, and saw the question mirrored in her sisters' faces.

Chris shrugged.

"We have a very competent assassin in our group," he remarked dryly.

"Oh…" Phoebe let the sound trail off into silence. She hadn't even considered that option.

"I could sneak in, scout the situation and kill him before he knew I was there," Hand said matter-of-factly. "If he wasn't there, I could plant bombs in the main cave and key them to activate when the power of an Elder was near them. That might take a bit longer, but he'd be just as dead."

"No," Chris said again, but his eyes said _not yet_.

Phoebe felt slightly shell-shocked. Only watching these two, who had both considered assassination as a possible solution to all this, did she realize that it might come to killing Gideon. Up until now, they had only ever planned to catch him and put him before the Elders.

But what if he was too strong for that, or had gathered too many allies? Could she kill a human, an _Elder_, if it was necessary?

Her eyes strayed towards the conservatory, where Wyatt lay in his playpen, deeply asleep. Gideon would be the cause of Chris' and Hand's future, he would cause uncountable deaths and he would change the world forever. But before that, _beyond_ that, he would hurt her nephew, an innocent child, and kill some part of him forever. He would destroy her family, and all that it stood for. Would create a Wyatt that didn't mind enslaving young girls and forcing them to kill.

And, meeting Piper's eyes and finding the same steely resolve there that she felt, Phoebe decided that, yes, she could kill an Elder, and she would if that bastard so much as reached out for her nephew.

"We'll go," Piper said, calmly and with the full authority of the Halliwell matriarch behind her words. "We confront Gideon, now, and end this once and for all."

Phoebe and Paige nodded. Leo inclined his head, obviously proud of them. Chris looked doubtful still, but nevertheless nodded after a moment, accepting their decision. And Hand looked anything but happy.

"Then let me at least come with you," she said into the thoughtful silence. "You yourself said that you might need the firepower. He could have been gathering demons and darklighters for months, and you might need every help you can get."

_Even me, although I know you don't want me,_ her eyes seemed to add.

But Chris, unmoved by her words, shook his head.

"I can't trust you, Hand, as you've proven only minutes ago," he said curtly, probably referring to the situation with Leo in the kitchen, although Phoebe couldn't begin to say how unfair that was. Either he didn't notice her flinch, or he didn't care. "Not completely, that is. I can't risk taking you into a situation with too many variables. You would need your magic back to be of any use, and I won't risk that either, not without a surefire way that you won't turn on us."

Hand was very pale as she stared at him, and Phoebe felt her own worry being replaced by anger. How could he tell her that, simply throw it in her face after all she'd done for him? Granted, there was still a lot they didn't know about her, but if she hadn't proven her loyalty by now, how could she ever hope to manage it?

The same thoughts seemed to run through Hand's head, for suddenly she nodded, as if having come to a decision.

"Very well," she said, calmly. "If those are your terms."

Suddenly, she dropped to her knees in front of Chris, as she'd done the day she had saved Piper's life, her arms spread out in front of her, her head touching the floor.

"I hereby swear fealty to Lord Christopher," she said, no, intoned, and Phoebe saw shock and something like horror spread on Chris' face. "To follow his orders and obey his wishes, to save and protect him and his family at all costs, to help him fulfil his mission or fulfil it in his stead, to serve him with everything in my power, to hold his code of honour and only use my magic if he so commands. This I swear on my magic, my blood and my life. So mote it be."

A golden light suddenly surrounded her and reached out for Chris, who stumbled back with nothing of his usual grace. It touched him, then encompassed him and shone even brighter, until the two time travellers were invisible in the cloud of magical light.

Then, it vanished.

"What the hell?" Piper said, effectively breaking the mood.

"I second that," Paige said, staring at Hand and Chris as if she had never seen anything like that before. Well, she hadn't, and neither had Phoebe, although she had her ideas about this.

Leo, however, stared at Chris and Hand as if he had seen exactly this kind of thing before, and couldn't believe it had happened again, in their living room.

"She pledged herself to him," he said and, with two big steps was by Hand's side and hoisted her up from the floor roughly. "What were you _thinking?_" he asked her. "Don't you know what this means?"

Hand freed herself none to gently and stepped away from Leo.

"I do," she answered quietly. "It means that Fox can trust me now, absolutely and without reserve. It means that I can come with you and fight against Gideon."

"It means that he can kill you with a word, you _stupid girl_," Leo snarled. "Swearing fealty isn't done lightly, and only ever on conditions. You swore on your _life!_ He can do with you whatever he wants now! You are less than a slave to him, and if he decides to…"

To Phoebe's right, Chris made a choking sound and stumbled as if he would fall. His hands gripped the table, knuckles white with tension, and his face… his face…

"Sorry," he mumbled, barely audible. "I… just need a moment here, I think."

Gracelessly, he stumbled over to the sofa and sat down hard. He buried his head in his hands, taking deep, uneven breaths that sounded suspiciously like sobs. But when he lifted his eyes back to them after what felt like an eternity, they were dry and filled with something much more desperate than tears.

"How could you _do _this to me?" He asked, sounding younger than he ever had before. "You know how I… I never wanted…"

"I know," said Hand, and although she had effectively given up her freedom, she sounded anything but obedient. "But this not about what _you_ want, Fox."

"You cannot do this to me!" Chris shouted, his face twisting, his eyes burning. "I'm not… I'm no Lord! I'm not Wyatt! I don't want people to serve me!"

In this moment, Phoebe was glad that she couldn't feel his emotions. What she saw and heard was quite enough.

"You have no choice about that, Fox," Hand said clearly and calmly. "You are what you are, and if I choose to lay down my life for you, you will have to bear it."

"No," suddenly, Chris was on his feet and pacing through the room, both hands twisted in his hair as if he wanted to wrench his head off. "No, I can't… I refuse to take that oath, Hand. I won't allow it."

"You won't allow it?" With three quick steps, Hand was by his side, reached out and _grabbed _him by a collar. "And you are allowed to give up your life for your cause? You are allowed to sacrifice yourself over and over again? You are allowed to leave everything behind and travel here, and suffer in silence? And you _forbid_ me to help? Who are you to make these choices, Fox? What gives you the right?"

Something in Chris seemed to break at her words, and with an inarticulate growl, he _jammed_ his arms forward, his telekinesis forcing her away from him and halfway across the room.

Hand fell to the floor, but made no move to defend herself or rise to her feet again.

"You can't stop me," she said. "And I won't stop you, no matter what you do to me, Fox. You _need_ to accept this."

All anger drained from Chris as he watched her lying on the floor. But there were still exhaustion, and fear, and a terrible grief darting across his face as he closed his eyes, half turned away from her and asked, in a tiny, broken voice:

"Why?"

"Because," Hand answered, as if she was the master and he had pledged himself to her. "Now you will let me fight beside you. Now, you will use me to win this fight."

"That's what I'm afraid of," Chris whispered.

He let his head fall forward and his hair shield his face from all of them. He didn't move as Hand rose from the floor, passing the silent sisters and Leo, and softly touched his arm.

"There is no need to fear yourself," she whispered. "You are a good man, Fox. You will do the right thing."

"He thought that he was doing the right thing, too," Chris whispered, still with that terrible, broken voice. "He thought he was protecting his world. What if I have gone bad already, and just haven't noticed?"

And Hand chuckled, warmly and quietly, as if they were sharing a private joke.

"You will never be like Lord Wyatt," she said softly. "You're just not righteous enough, Fox."

His head rose as if against his own will.

"I do not want this, Hand," he said quietly.

"But you will use me," Hand said, as if it was a fact, and after a long moment of hesitation, Chris nodded.

"Yes," he confirmed. "If there is no other way."

And Hand, the girl who had given herself away twice, once under force and once willingly, the girl who could die by his word and would live by his will from now on, Hand smiled as if her deepest wish was finally fulfilled.

* * *

A/N: Passchendaele: The site of several battles during World War I, became synonymous with a war of horror that sacrificed thousands of men only to win an inch of ground. It seems likely to me that Chris has studied his military strategy and history (neurotic as he is), so he would know all about it.


	22. Into Battle

**A/N**: A word of explanation to the oath of fealty Hand has given: Yes, Chris could have stopped her saying it, and he could, indeed, release her from it any given minute. That's exactly the problem, because it leaves Chris with the dilemma of accepting the oath or not, knowing, at the same time, that he desperately needs Hand's firepower.

Some of you asked about the revelation part in this story: Don't worry, it's still coming, though it is several chapters away. We'll turn the screw a few times more before it comes to that, yes? Just to make sure that it really hurts when it happens…

Also, this chapter is for Aynessa, who promised she would turn into a puddle of incoherence, a thing I've always wanted to see. Thank you for your wonderful reviews, love! And thank you too everyone else who reviews – I'm blown away by your response and very proud that you accept my slightly weird take on this whole thing!

* * *

**Into Battle**

Phoebe's and her sisters' preparations for battle consisted, as usual, of changing into more comfortable shoes. Paige went so far as to change out of her rather tiny skirt into a pair of jeans. Still it wasn't enough to stop Chris, who had donned black cargo trousers, a black button down and a set of belts bulging with potions bottles, from critically shaking his head over them.

Phoebe didn't mind his disapproval – it was a fixed part of his personality, after all. But then Hand stepped back into the room, and suddenly Phoebe felt completely unprofessional and woefully underdressed.

The girl was wearing tight trousers and shirt of a stretchy material and a _very_ tight leather vest, lined with rows and rows of potions bottles. The material seemed grey one moment, then brown, then black, as if shifting colours of its own will. It looked strange in the bright lights of their kitchen, but in the dimness of the underworld's caves Hand would be practically invisible.

Also, she was wearing knives.

Everywhere.

Strapped to her boots, her thighs and he belt, her arms and shoulders, their blades secured in black leather sheaths and their handles in wrapped in brown leather, she wore them as if they were normal accessories for a girl not yet twenty, although Phoebe wouldn't even dare move with that many weapons around. The knuckles of two larger weapons – sai, Phoebe guessed, recognizing them from one of her forays into armed marital arts – were barely visible above her shoulders, ready to be grasped at a moment's notice.

Chris' eyes were a bit wild as he took her appearance in, his shoulder line a bit too tense, but he made no comment, just nodded for her to join them.

And as Hand stepped to the table with a fluid, strangely dangerous grace, the pieces of the puzzle finally came together in Phoebe's mind, and she understood that this fighter, this girl who wore knives like bangles, was the real Hand, the servant of Wyatt, the assassin that had frightened Chris like mad in the beginning.

And she found that she understood that fear.

But then the moment was broken and Chris was reaching into his never-ending pocket again, producing an unused syringe and a small vial of pale green liquid.

"This is the antidote to the potion that blocks your magic," he told Hand, and if he hesitated, or if his hands were trembling a bit, it was over too fast to really see. "I'll inject you with it now. The results should be pretty much immediate, so tell me when you get your magic back. And just so you know: I forbid you to take anything from anyone without my explicit command."

Hand nodded and did not even flinch as he injected her. Instead, she closed her eyes, and the lines in her face smoothed away one by one. She looked like someone enjoying a very expensive wellness treatment.

Then, after about five minutes, she suddenly sighed, opened her eyes again, and smiled.

"It is all back," she confirmed. "Thank you."

"What are your powers, then?" Paige asked, and Chris sent her an unreadable look, as if he couldn't believe that they hadn't bothered to ask _before_ he gave Hand her magic back.

"That is not a discussion we should have right now," he said ominously, and surprisingly, Paige backed down immediately, probably because she had other things on her mind.

"All righty," she chirped instead. "Let's go kick some Elder-ass, then!"

"Just one moment." Piper had been very quiet since Chris' return. She now met Leo's eyes with a serious expression, and, really, what was it with those two? Phoebe was getting the strangest vibes from them, as if there was a whole level of tension she didn't get, and if she prided herself of anything, it was knowing her sisters inside-out. They would _really_ have to talk about that once Gideon was taken care of!

"Leo, I want you to stay here with Wyatt," Piper now said softly, and Leo's face showed first confusion, then understanding and outrage.

"No!" he protested. "I won't let you go down there with those two! This could be the trap they have planned for all along!"

"Or Gideon could just wait until we turn up and then send someone for Wyatt, or come himself," Piper said. "We could do exactly the thing he wants without knowing. You are the strongest of us with your Elder powers, and you need to protect our son. Please! I cannot do this without knowing he's safe!"

Silently, Leo took her hand, searching for something in her face and finding it. Phoebe had to suppress a sigh. They still looked so _right_ together that she had to remind her forcibly of their separation.

Leo nodded. "If that is what you need," he said quietly. "But I want you to promise me that you'll be careful, all of you."

His eyes took in Piper, Phoebe and Paige, who nodded. He ignored Chris and Hand, who, in turn, ignored him. Weren't they a cosy little team?

Then Leo did the group hugging, and despite her irritation with him, Phoebe relaxed gladly into his embrace. He'd been their first whitelighter, watcher, protector, and in a way he would stay the most important magical person to Phoebe forever.

"You can do this, Phoebe," he whispered into her ears. "I trust you. Watch out for your sisters."

She nodded, not knowing what to say to that, and then joined her sisters.

"I love you two," she said quietly. It didn't really need saying after all these years, but it felt right. They whispered their love back to her, and then Chris stepped up to them.

"Are we all clear on this?" He asked, voice solemn, and one by one they nodded.

"Remember: stay together," he continued. "Don't take unnecessary risks, and if things get too dangerous, signal Paige or me and we'll all orb out together. If you can't reach us, find your way to the cave we'll orb into first and wait for the others."

Again they nodded, and he met their eyes, his face grim but determined. He still wasn't happy about this, but he was their general now, and Phoebe for one was glad that he was in charge.

"Then take my hands and hold on tight," he said, and orbed them into battle.

* * *

The cavern they materialized in was markedly smaller than the main cave, but it still could have housed a hundred people. Luckily, they were alone.

Chris didn't have to think about the sequence of spells that would show wards, traps, hidden spaces or spells - they had been part of his everyday-life long enough to become an automatic litany to him. The results were negative. They were safe for the moment, but he didn't allow himself to relax.

People got killed when he relaxed.

He nodded towards Hand and she vanished – stepped into the shadow, her clothes blending perfectly into wall and floor.

Chris wasn't entirely sure how much of that vanishing act was magic and how much skill, but it had frightened the hell out of him back in the days and drew gasps and appreciative whispers from the sisters now.

Chris wanted to snap at them that silence was a necessary part of surprising anyone, but then he checked the impulse. They had worked hard these past weeks and given their best to follow his lead, and when push came to shove, they were the Charmed Ones and had taught him much of what he knew. What right did he have to dictate their battle behaviour?

Instead, he silently placed the crystals that would form an anti-orbing ward the moment he wished it, a drop of his blood ensuring that they would react to his telekinesis even if they weren't in sight of him.

Then, he raised his arms and activated the triquetras to hover behind him like a swarm of tiny silver fish, ready to be used but nearly invisible from the front.

Waiting was hard work, but it was necessary, and he had long become used to it. He had always been adamant about taking part in the action, even though the other members of the Resistance's council wanted him to stay in their safe houses, arguing that he was too valuable to be wasted in battle. But he had accepted that his main strength was strategy, and that a general who died in the first moments of a conflict was worth nothing. So he silently kept up his litany of spells, checking and re-checking their surroundings, and watched the sisters uncomfortably shifting from one foot to the other. They were even less happy with waiting than he was, given that they normally didn't use scouts.

And then Hand was back, one of her knives out and her hands tinged in yellow demon blood. He straightened abruptly and raised an arm, but she shook her head, indicating that they hadn't been found out. Just a little extra-killing on her part, then.

Normally, they would have used gestures in such a situation, the code-system the Resistance had developed and that he had taught to her over the past weeks, accepting that they would far more likely end up fighting on the same side than on opposite ones. But the sisters had no idea of codes, or any sort of strategic subtlety, really, and so she gave her report in a low voice, carefully toning down sibilants and all sounds that would carry further than this cave.

"He's here," she told them quietly. "He's got a few tables and a kind of throne in the middle of the main cave, and he doesn't seem to expect trouble, although he uses a fairly strong body-ward. There are about fifteen demons with him, most of them middle level strength, but three Trhak'aar stand closest to them, and they're really difficult to kill under normal circumstances."

Chris nodded. That kind of set-up made sense if Gideon didn't really expect them. He was a careful man and would probably be always surrounded by some kind of bodyguard, the personal wards in turn protecting him from his not exactly trustworthy demon associates, but he let his guard down in this cave system to a certain point.

"There were several wards on the entrances, and orbing directly into the main cave would alert him immediately," Hand continued. _Were_, Chris thought. So she'd already dismantled them without Gideon noticing. This was a bit too easy to his liking. But perhaps the Elder simply hadn't had the time to put up more elaborate defences.

"Be extremely careful," he advised the sisters, opting, as always, for the paranoid approach. "I have a bad feeling about this."

Paige made a dismissive sound and waved her hand.

"We've had much worse than that," she said easily. "Fifteen demons is a piece of cake, Chris."

_Try a city in ruins with magic trackers on every street corner and demons swarming everywhere,_ Chris thought. _Try the heir of Excalibur out to get your head. Then you can talk _worse_. _

But he just nodded. Confidence was important, and there wasn't much he could do, anyway.

"Just stay close, please," he said, and Phoebe at least seemed to take him seriously.

Sneaking into the main cavern without Gideon or his demons noticing them wasn't the problem, really. There were enough rocks and rubble lying around to hide them easily.

The trouble started when about twenty metres lay between them and Gideon. The Elder was talking to a demon, and something made him laugh, cold and hard and entirely evil. It was so different from the Gideon they'd all come to know, and suddenly there was no doubt left in Chris' mind, no doubt at all.

And then Piper went ballistic.

"Hey, asshole, what's there to laugh about?" She shouted, standing straight and _very _visible.

_This is why I always work alone,_ Chris thought angrily and quickly triggered the anti-orbing wards.

Impressively, Gideon went from amused to alert to aggressive in the blink of an eye, and Paige and Phoebe had barely joined their sister when a broad sweep of his arm sent them sprawling back against the rocky floor. It was the same standard defence gesture Chris would have used for such a situation, disorienting them and separating them nicely. This man was good. And they had just lost the element of surprise.

Rising to his own feet, Chris sent his triquetras out in a broad line. They darted through the air like arrows, and every single one found a mark. Ten demons collapsed, then burst into flames, and the sisters, stumbling to their feet, took care of the other five. So much so good.

But Gideon only raised an eyebrow. Then he smiled, and Chris' feeling went from bad to catastrophic.

He turned and rushed towards the sisters, not caring that his unprotected back was towards the Elder. Every second counted.

"We need to get out of here," he shouted and reached for Piper. Phoebe caught on quick and stumbled towards Paige, but before they could join hands and orb away, a wave of pressure swept through the halls, and Chris didn't need to whisper a detection spell.

Wards had come up. Powerful wards, strong enough to trap the Charmed Ones and even Hand in this cave. He might be able to undo them, but never in the time it would take Gideon to do whatever he had planned.

The Elder had been waiting for them, and like lambs for the slaughter, they had come.

And then, the demons started to flame in.

* * *

A/N: Already working on the next part, guys! You can expect another quick update to make the cliffhanger hurt less.


	23. Rock, Meet Hard Place

**A/N**: Oookaay, this chapter is slightly icky and battle-ish and there is lots of blood and other bodily fluids (it probably deserves an M-rating; I'm not sure about it). If you react sensitively to that kind of thing, please skip the chapter and send me a note: I will prepare a bowdlerized version for you.

* * *

**Rock, Meet Hard Place**

There were so many of them, more than Paige had ever seen at once, and they didn't look like the mostly harmless idiot-demon type, either. She shared a look with Phoebe and saw the worry in her sister's eyes.

Chris had cautioned against this kind of situation, but they had been so confident in their power, so used to turning the odds to their favour, and they hadn't expected this. She reached for Phoebe, saw Chris take Piper's hand and immediately tried to orb out, only to be slammed back into her corporeal form.

"Hand?" Chris called out and the girl's body blurred like a fuzzy television screen, but it only lasted a second, then she shook her head.

"Only incoming," she told them calmly, and that was that. They couldn't escape.

And still there were demons appearing in the cave, a nearly ridiculous number of them, as if Gideon had recruited all of the underworld just for this moment.

And what if he had? For the past years, the only thing that had saved them time and again was that demons were barely able to greet each other civilly, not to mention work together. Every real danger had come from a demon leader strong enough to unite the tribes against them, and Gideon had to know that as well as any Elder.

He had probably studied them, she thought, hopelessness rising inside her, and he had to know exactly where their weaknesses lay.

For the first time, she seriously considered the possibility of dying. She found that she didn't like it at all.

Another look from sister to sister, and she saw the same thought played out in the faces of Piper and Phoebe. But she also saw their strength, their determination, and she remembered that they had seen a sister die before. They _knew_ that they might not survive this, and still they stood strong.

Paige took a deep breath, grabbed a handful of general vanquishing potions from her bag, and prepared to orb them.

If they couldn't escape, they would give these demons the fight of their life.

She stepped up to Piper, Phoebe following, finding solace in their closeness. They weren't just frightened witches. They were the Charmed Ones.

And then she felt another presence in her back, the taller body of Chris standing close to her and of Hand by his side, and she remembered that they weren't alone. Chancing a glance behind her, she saw that Chris' eyes were flickering across the room too fast to follow, taking in groups of demons and categorizing them, the triquetras hovering above his head like deadly little birds. Hand looked totally unimpressed, as if such a host of demons was everyday to her, and, considering the future, perhaps it was. But she had unsheathed on of her many knives, and her grip around the handle was sure and steady.

Paige sent her a small, slightly tremulous smile. They weren't alone.

"Best you do the talking, Piper," Chris now whispered, and there was strength in his voice, as if he _trusted_ them to do this, had seen them survive it and would see it again. "And when it comes to fighting, you three fall back. You're our long range weapons, and we need the three of you unharmed to capture Gideon."

Piper nodded, but she didn't move her eyes from Gideon. The steely determination in her face was very close to the expression Chris wore, and again Paige thought that Leo had chosen well, back then, when making her the goddess of the earth.

"Gideon," she said abruptly, not a hint of fear in her voice, not even worry. _God, she's awesome_, Paige thought. "I planned to ask you whether you really wanted to hurt my son, but I guess this little get-together answers the question."

Gideon smiled, and moved his hands in a commanding gesture, and the demon army parted a little before him, not enough to leave him without defence, but so that they could see eye to eye.

"Believe me, Piper," he said smoothly, every inch a benevolent Elder. "I never wanted this. I didn't plan for it, and I would have much preferred to solve this conflict in a peaceful manner."

"You call harming my son peaceful?" Piper asked, some of her fury seeping through into her voice.

Gideon spread his hands in a 'Who? Me?'-gesture, but he didn't bother denying.

"It is nobody's fault, Piper, but the fact is that your son will become too powerful. His very existence risks the balance of good and evil, as he has already proven several times. Allowing your marriage with Leo was a mistake – as you'd probably agree by now. Allowing your son to exist could lead to an unimaginable catastrophe."

"So you admit it," Piper said. "You admit that you were planning to kill him?"

"Denying seems useless by now," Gideon smiled charmingly. "But what I would really like to know is who told you about it. I was _so _careful."

Piper didn't even twitch towards Hand.

"A little bird," she said coolly. "And you wanna know what he told me, too? He promised me that we would kick your ass before this day is over."

Gideon laughed. He actually threw his head back and did the real, original evil-mastermind laugh. Paige was slightly impressed. Not many pulled it off so well, but then not many beings of supreme good had gone over to the dark side. Or so she hoped.

"But look around you, Piper!" He chuckled. "You are surrounded by the most powerful demons the Underworld has to offer, demons thirsting for the blood of a Charmed One, and what have you got? A young whitelighter from the future and a little girl!"

And Piper, not even flinching, stepped a little to the side.

"Show him what we've got, Hand," she said.

And suddenly, two knive-handles were protruding from the foreheads of Gideon's main bodyguards. Without having time to even stumble, the demons burst into flames.

Piper cocked her head. "Pretty good for a little girl, isn't she?" she asked.

Gideon had stopped smiling. He was staring hard at Hand, as if he expected to know or recognize her, but considering that she probably wasn't even born yet, Paige doubted his luck.

"So you've come prepared," he stated, as if that was surprising, and really, what was it with all those people criticising their style? They had an excellent track record, after all!

"But it won't be enough, I'm afraid." He hesitated. "Since Leo isn't with you, I must assume that he is protecting the child. But, never mind. There will be enough chances to get hold of the boy when he is busy grieving for you."

_Clever Piper,_ Paige thought, but then Gideon waved a mocking goodbye at them and vanished from the cave, the demons were starting to move, and she was occupied with other things.

Chris shoved them behind him and Hand, Piper raised her hand and started exploding things, Phoebe was throwing potions bottles like hell and Paige was orbing them towards the more dangerous demons, and then they were upon them.

Or rather, nearly upon them. Demons swarmed forward, yelling and fighting, and the sheer sight of it was ridiculous, Chris and Hand, standing at arms' length, watching calmly as their enemies approached.

They were barely grown up, for God's sake, thin and not especially tall, and there was no chance that they could ever hold their own against demons twice their size, no chance that they would even survive the first minute…

And then they _moved._

Chris slammed his arms forward and his triquetras followed obediently, slashing through bodies, embedding themselves in flesh and horn, and wherever they darted, death followed them. Chris twirled his hands and suddenly they formed a twister of silver around him, killing those that tried to get to him with the speed of a tornado. He twisted to one side, ducking under the reaching arm of a demon and blocking another, and his left foot connected with a demon's face, whirling him backwards to crash into another one, both of them going down with the superhuman force of Chris' telekinesis. He swept his arms to the sides and those demons that had tried to rush past them and attack the Charmed Ones were slammed against the walls and each other and then the triquetras were there, consuming them in fire.

Chris grabbed a potions bottle from his belt, unstoppered it with his left while his right directed silver death at their enemies and then splashed the liquid into the air in front of him. Before it could fall or dissolve, his palms were stretched out, fingers twitching here and there, sending droplets towards demons' faces and eyes. More died.

He breathed in deeply, opened his arms as if to embrace his opponents, and then _twisted _his whole body sharply to the left, and Paige heard the terrible sound of necks breaking all over the room. He stabbed his fingertips into the air and eyeballs were crushed with an awful squishy sound.

But still, more were coming.

Paige wasn't thinking anymore, she was just attacking, and countering, and trying to save herself and her sisters. Phoebe was throwing potions bottles so hard that a groan escaped her every time she let go of one, and Piper's hands were whirling through the air, finding targets and exploding them in the blink of an eye.

But despite all this, and despite Chris' _incredible_ performance, their saving grace was Hand, and boy was Paige glad that she was on their side.

Like Chris, she seemed to use whatever powers she had to increase the strength of her attacks exponentially. Demons went down after just one punch, and Paige saw her completely shattering a nose, no, the whole face, with just one kick.

She rushed a huge demon with black-and-yellow skin, ramming her elbow into his stomach, then whirled around his body till she stood in his back and slashed open his throat with a quick swipe of her knife, continuing the motion until her knife met another target. Two demons down, and she was already on her way to the next.

Paige knew all the clichés that were used to describe fighting of this calibre, and no, this wasn't dancing, and it certainly wasn't beautiful. It was violent, and bloody, and _incredibly_ aggressive. But there was a certain fascination to it, a feeling that reminded Paige of watching her parents' car crashing in front of her eyes: What you saw was inevitable, there was no way to stop it, no way to change it, and still you couldn't turn away.

Hand was like that inevitability, _crashing_ into the lines of their enemies and reaping lives left and right. She seemed invulnerable, untouchable, despite the fact that Paige _knew _she was human, _knew_ she was just a girl, and Paige understood that Chris' and the Resistance's attitude to the girl had never been only fear. There had also been awe, as if she was a natural catastrophe and you could not hope to stand in her way and live.

* * *

Fighting with Hand instead of against her, Chris thought absently while slashing his way through an army of demons, was a bit like surfing instead of drowning. Things suddenly didn't seem so dangerous anymore, and the sheer momentum of her attack drove him along with her.

Her speed, her elegance and all her focussed violence on the other side of the battle lines had struck fear in his heart before, but now she was at his side, frightening _his _enemies, shattering their lines, protecting _his _back.

She seemed to be everywhere at once, kicking and slashing, fighting with tooth and claw, and she was utterly fearless, uninhibited in her aggression. That was perhaps her greatest asset, that she would get up close with the biggest, most dangerous demon and didn't worry for her safety, just getting in there with knives and sai, elbows and hands and even teeth if the necessity arose.

She clawed her way through the demons as if they were helpless dummies, not seasoned fighters, and only the look of concentration on her face betrayed that she was fighting for their lives.

It was surprising, really, how different her style was from Bianca's, even though Hand had been taught by the same masters, or even by Bianca herself. But if he had learned anything in the past years, it was that your magic formed your fighting style as much as it influenced your personality (it was not surprising that his mother could explode things while his aunt was an empath), and phoenix magic was, by definition, flashier, with all that appearing and disappearing, distorting time and lots of impressive acrobatics.

Hand, however, used magic in a much more subtle way. She was just that much quicker, that much stronger than her enemies, seeing an opening where others wouldn't, honing in on the weaknesses of her opponents and using them to her advantage without a second thought.

She was laying waste to an army all by herself, and he would have loved to just stand still for a moment and watch her, but there was no time and demons closing in on them from all sights.

He used his sleeve to wipe the sweat from his brow and found it sticky with blood. He hadn't even noticed that he'd been wounded, but now that he knew, the deep gash on his forearm sent pain coursing through his system, and a warning: He couldn't go on for much longer without slowing down, and in this kind of mêlée, slowing down meant death.

Chris chanced one look at the sisters, noticing that their potions were finally spent and that Piper looked close to collapsing.

_We need to get out of here_, he thought with growing worry. He and Hand were somewhat expendable now that Gideon was found out, but if the sisters died here, today, the future would be changed in unimaginable ways, and he did not want to be responsible for that.

And yet he could not think of a way to end this with them surviving.

Calling in Leo wasn't an option – the Elder could prolong their fight, but even he wouldn't help them win, and then Wyatt would be without parents and completely vulnerable.

Chris gasped as a fireball grazed his side and he ducked too late, but then Hand was there and shattered his attacker's throat with a move she'd been trying to teach him for weeks.

She didn't look tired like the rest of them, but her hair and face were coated with blood and she was down to her sai, all knives spent or lost.

"We have to do something," she called out to him, echoing his thoughts. "The sisters won't hold out much longer."

Chris nodded to show that he understood, then turned to take on a K'resh-demon that was turning the air around him into poison. It was an effort to lift his arms, now that the strength bled from his body quickly.

But what could he do? He either needed a way to bring down the wards fast, without the time to actually work on them, or a way to kill or incapacitate all demons at once, and how the hell could he hope to manage…

He twisted out of the way of yet another fireball, then sought out Hand in the chaos and beckoned her over to him.

"That thing you did in safehouse three, two years ago," he shouted. "Could you do that again?"

She stared at him.

"But that would kill all of you, too," she argued, then ducked under the sweep of a huge sword, rolled back to her feet and punched the attacker in the solar plexus. He collapsed from the shock and she broke his neck before he hit the floor.

"That's my problem," he yelled. "Can you do it?"

One moment's hesitation as she worked through the parameters, then she gave him a short nod.

"But if it doesn't work, I'm out of the fight for good," she warned him.

"If it doesn't work," he answered grimly. "We'll all be dead, anyway."

He gave a last, painful shove, spreading his arms wide, and the demons exploded from his position and collided with the attackers coming on behind them. Really, was there no end to these demon numbers? Then he was up and running towards the sisters, gathering them round him and sparing only a short glance to assess their status.

"Stay close to me if you want to live," he ordered them, then closed his eyes and thought of Bianca and the way she had looked when he had asked her to marry him. If this didn't work and he died today, that was the memory he wanted to to go with.

"WYATT," he then called out, hoping against hope that it would work, and nearly sagged in relief when a familiar weight settled on his arms. He cupped the toddler's face, making sure that Wyatt would only see him, not the battle around them, ignored Piper's shocked 'what the hell?' and shouted: "Hand, NOW!"

And Hand, who had made her way into the thick of it, completely surrounded now by her enemies, Hand fell to her knees, threw back her head, screamed and erupted into flames.

"Danger, Wyatt!" Chris yelled, and his little-big brother reacted exactly the way he had been trained to. His shield sprang up, encasing Chris and the sisters and separating them from the raging chaos of fire that was suddenly all around them.

The force of the fire sucked all oxygen from the cave, and many demons choked before the flames even reached them, but reach them they did, eventually. The explosion of heat and light with Hand at its centre _surged_ through the room, leaving nothing untouched and nothing alive.

Except for the small bubble of power protecting the Charmed Ones and Piper's two sons.

It took less than a minute, really, but to Chris it seemed like an eternity. He had only observed the consequences of this terrible power, once, when he had inspected the ruins of safe house three, and had been horrified by what he'd seen. That had been nothing to this, however, to the sheer chaos and panic around him, heightened only by the surreal calm of their shelter.

Winds hot enough to boil the flesh from their bodies swept through the cave, but within the bubble, there was not even a breeze. And then, when the fires died down as quickly as they had started, leaving only the scattered remains of burnt demons and the strangely untouched figure of a young girl, Chris wondered if the inventors of the atomic bomb had felt like this.

He took a deep, gasping breath.

"It's alright, Wyatt," he whispered. "Danger's over."

The bubble died around them and he handed Wyatt over to Phoebe, who took him without moving her eyes from the charred wasteland around them, too shocked by what she had seen to react properly.

He had noticed the crystal anchoring the wards even during Gideon's speech, but it had been far beyond enemy lines and protected against any kind magical influence. It had been impossible to get there before, even for Hand, but now it was just one sprint across the ash-strewn floor of the cave and one good hit with a jagged rock, and it was destroyed.

He moved quickly, both because he worried Gideon might return and because he wouldn't be able to stay on his feet much longer, and the sisters had only barely awakened from their shock when he'd reached the unconscious Hand and gathered her in his arms.

"Paige," he called out, his voice sharp and commanding, and she reacted to the tone if not to her name. "Orb them to the Manor. Let's get out of here!"

* * *

A/N: I hope you liked this chapter! I'm afraid you'll have to wait a bit longer for the next update, since I've a lot of work in the coming week. Unless you motivate me to write faster ;-)


	24. The Makings of a Good Man

A/N: Lots of angst in this one, guys. But I guess that doesn't surprise you, eh?

There's another cliffhanger at the end of this chapter, and the next update will take a while. So read at your own risk!

* * *

**The Makings of a Good Man**

Before they had even fully re-formed, Leo was standing in font of them, mad with worry.

"Wyatt's gone," he shouted. "I…"

He was interrupted both by the sight of Wyatt, lying happily in Phoebe's arms, and Piper, who wrenched her hand out of Paige's grasp, stormed over to Chris and slapped him.

Twice.

The blows were hard enough to slam his head backward, his hair flying into his face, and when he righted himself again, a red patch of skin marked the place where she'd struck.

"How dare you," Piper said, too angry to yell. "How dare you _use_ my son this way!"

Chris' hand rose to his cheek and covered the mark of her anger, but his face was nothing but calm.

He used his other hand to levitate Hand's unconscious form into the air and gently float her over to the sofa.

"It was the only way," he said, his eyes moving from Piper to Hand. "We were trapped. We would have died."

"We could have died anyway," Piper answered, her voice rising in anger now that the first shock was over. "You had no right to drag Wyatt into this!"

"I had every right!" Chris yelled. He looked a bit unsteady on his feet, and Paige noticed that his left sleeve was blood soaked. "I needed to keep you alive, dammit!"

"Not at the price of Wyatt's safety!" Piper yelled right back. "I thought we agreed on that! I _trusted _you!"

"What did he do?" Leo asked, eyes narrowed and hands ready to attack Chris.

To his credit Paige had to say that there was no 'I told you so' in sight, but then the afternoon was young. Also, she was wondering whether they shouldn't be starting the healing about now, given that Chris was bleeding on the carpet and Hand was still unconscious.

But Piper obviously had the same thought and was not angry enough to simply let Chris lose the argument by dying from blood loss.

"Heal now, talk later," she used her catchphrase, and although he looked as if healing was the last thing on his mind, Leo stepped forward and healed first the sisters, then Hand, finally touching Chris' arm without looking at him, as if he was an afterthought.

Chris took a deep breath, stood straighter, and colour returned to his face. Obviously, he had been more wounded than he'd let on, but that didn't surprise Paige anymore, especially not when her mind was still reeling with the afternoon's events.

She couldn't _believe_ that Chris had actually summoned Wyatt into the middle of a battle like that, knowing fully well that her little nephew would die along with them if Chris' plan didn't work.

Come to think of it, she couldn't believe that the plan actually had worked, and she still wasn't sure that she'd seen what she'd seen…

"What the hell did Hand do back there?" She demanded, deciding that she would concentrate on the less difficult questions for now. "And how did you turn into such a kick-ass fighter? You weren't any good at it before!"

She saw Phoebe to her left squirm a bit and remembered that her older sister had followed Chris and Hand down into the cellar a few times. Obviously, she wasn't as surprised as the rest of them. She'd grill her about that later, Paige decided.

"I'm not that good a fighter," Chris disagreed calmly, as if he hadn't taken on a ridiculous number of demons and won. "But you tend to pick up a few things when living and working with warriors."

"And Hand's power?" Phoebe chimed in. She still looked a bit dazed, and Paige realized that what had been chaos to her must have been a catastrophe to an empathy. "What exactly is it? Fire?"

Chris shrugged, then winced and closed his eyes for a moment. Healing didn't stop muscles from being sore, and it didn't cure weariness. Paige hesitated for a moment, then walked over to the exhausted young man, grabbed his hand and towed him over to the living room table. His eyes snapped open but he seemed too tired to resist as she planted him on a chair and sat down opposite to him. That told Paige all she needed to know about the state he was in, really, and she felt her own heart soften a bit.

_You promised yourself that you wouldn't doubt him anymore_, she reminded herself, but keeping that promise was hard after what he'd done today.

Chris shot her a surprised and thankful look. Perhaps he hadn't expected kindness from any of them, and that hardened her resolve. He would need to explain himself, but there would be time for that later, when they weren't so on edge anymore.

"Hand?" She prompted again, and Chris nodded to show that he hadn't forgotten.

"It's complicated," he tried to explain. "Basically, from what I know, her power used to be just one thing: She's able to borrow powers from others or take them permanently, which makes her pretty much invaluable to someone without morals. I don't know how many powers she has appropriated like that over the years. But they don't all work as well for her, and from what knowledge the Resistance has gathered I'd say that she needs to train using them just as any witch would. So there are things she can do very well, things she can do a bit and other things she can use but will be kind of overwhelmed or hurt by."

He gestured over to the sofa.

"Like this fire-explosion thing. It kills everyone in a hundred metre-radius, but it also knocks her out cold for a while."

Paige decided not to dwell on the fact that Hand could turn into a bomb.

"How does she take powers?" She asked instead, thinking uneasily about the warlocks and witches who had tried to do that to them in the past.

Again, Chris shrugged, but there was a bitter expression in his face, as if he remembered unpleasant things.

"You need to be close to her. And she has to want it," he said.

"Wait, it's that easy to her?" Phoebe, who had joined them around the table, leaving Piper and Leo standing in the living room and looking a bit stupid, asked. "She just has to _wish_ it and then it happens? No touching, no spells, no rituals?"

Chris nodded. "It's that easy," he confirmed. "Unless you have strong personal wards going like Gideon did. She also can't do it to many people at once, but if she wanted to, she could strip all of us of our powers in an instant. And there'd be nothing we could do against it."

Paige shuddered. "Now I understand why you kept her on that blocking potion for so long," she said. "And I'm _very_ glad that you didn't tell me when I asked before."

Chris shrugged again. "There was a reason why I didn't want her involved in all this. I told you not to take her lightly," he reminded them, but his heart wasn't in it. He still looked exhausted, as if he wanted nothing more than tip his head back and sleep for days.

Paige met his eyes, and saw tiredness, frustration that they had failed again and, beyond all, guilt. She wasn't sure if that last feeling referred to Wyatt or to Hand, or to the fact that he had led them into a trap, but he probably thought he'd messed up on all accounts and she felt for him, she really did. Messing up was something she understood perfectly.

Piper, on the other hand, wasn't very understanding.

"You also told us that your main priority was to protect Wyatt," she said sharply, stepping up to the table but not sitting down. She was positively vibrating with anger, and Leo hovered over her shoulder like the opposite of a little angel. It could have looked ridiculous if the situation hadn't been so dire.

When Chris looked up at them and met their eyes, he flinched at the mistrust he saw. He tried to straighten, but something in the movement was too much for him and so he just leaned forward a bit, bracing his arms on the table for support.

"Please, Piper," he said quietly, beseechingly. "I'm not… Can we not do this right now?"

"You don't get to decide _when_ we do this, mister," Piper snapped back. "Not after you've used my _son_ in your petty schemes."

Chris closed his eyes in defeat, his jaw working as if he was trying to bite down on something. Paige wanted to argue that she didn't consider their survival a petty scheme, but that argument would only have increased the problem, and luckily Phoebe was a bit quicker.

"Piper, Leo, can I have a word with you?" She asked. "In the kitchen?"

"I don't think…" Piper began aggressively, but then Phoebe pulled out her serious face, and, as always, Piper gave in. It was fascinating to watch every time, Paige thought. Phoebe seemed to grow up in front of their eyes, turning from the bubbly middle sister into that… wise person was the best way to describe it. When Phoebe looked like that, it was very hard to ignore her, even for Piper in one of her moods.

"Please," Phoebe said again. "This is very important. Only a few minutes."

Piper huffed, threw a suspicious glance at Chris and ostentatiously gathered Wyatt closer to her, but then she nodded and she and Leo walked over to the kitchen door. Phoebe gestured for Paige to follow them, and then she half turned around, smiled, and put a hand on Chris arm.

"We'll get her off your back for a moment," she whispered, and Chris' eyes went round with surprise. He seemed on the edge of tears for a moment, but then he pulled himself together and nodded.

"Thank you, Phoebe," he whispered back. "Thank you."

* * *

If Chris had been a bit less suicidal or more cowardly, he'd have orbed out there and then, leaving the confrontation for another day. But it had all been too much for all of them, and he couldn't chicken out of the mess he himself had made.

He'd lost against Gideon. He'd nearly gotten them killed. He'd risked Wyatt's life. And he'd abused Hand's trust less than an hour after she had bestowed it on him.

What a hero he was.

He wanted nothing more than to lay his head down on the table, let the well-known polished surface do the job of carrying all this, and never look up again. Five years he had waited for that moment, five years he had fought to survive long enough to rescue Wyatt and save the world, and now he'd blown it.

He'd failed all of them. Bianca and Alex, the Charmed Ones of this time and his mother and aunts of the future. He'd had only one job to do, one single thing to accomplish, and he'd failed.

But that was nothing new, was it. His father had always considered him a failure, and no one had expected him to be anything but ordinary in comparison to Wyatt. Circumstances had raised him up higher than he'd ever wanted or deserved to be, but now that the crunch had come, he'd proved himself to be exactly what he'd always been. A disappointment.

And, God! What had he done to Hand? Hand, who'd looked at him with absolute trust in his eyes barely an hour ago and told him that he was a good man, Hand, who'd put her life in his hands despite all the things Wyatt had done to her, and what had he done with it?

He'd made her kill again. He'd made her use the skills Wyatt had forced her to develop. He'd made her a bomb, a weapon, a thing, because he'd messed it up and needed someone to clean up after him. And now she was lying unconscious on the sofa, and he hadn't even bothered checking on her.

He wasn't sure where he took the strength from, but he made his way over to her slowly, feeling like an old man, and sat down rather abruptly and painfully on the floor, close to where her head rested on a cushion.

She looked calm and relaxed now, but he'd seen the grimace of pain on her face when he'd orbed her back to the mansion. She might not have been harmed beyond a few superficial nicks and scratches - Wyatt only employed the beast armourers, and Hand's clothing, flimsy as it might look, was _crackling_ with protection spells that would keep her from being injured –, but activating a power as volatile as the firewall must have hurt badly. And still she'd done it. Without questioning him.

Her hair and face were still dirty from the battle, so he floated a basin of water and a cloth from the supply table they'd prepared beforehand and started cleaning her. No one deserved waking up covered in blood. It itched like mad, and it was hell to get off the skin once it had dried completely.

He was as careful as possible, but still she moaned and twitched a little when the cloth touched her skin, and when he'd finished with her face and moved on to her hair she opened her eyes and looked directly at him.

"Are you all right?" She asked.

Chris would have cried, if he was still crying, but his eyes were burning something fierce as he answered her gaze.

"Yes. We all got out safely. Thanks to you."

She shook her head softly, barely moving, and her eyes stayed on him.

"No," she whispered. "Because of you. You found a way, like you always do."

"I didn't solve the problem, I _created_ it," he disagreed bitterly. "And I made you do something terrible."

There was so much understanding in the way she looked at him, he felt like he would burn up from it, like his insides were turned outside, like there was no place in the world to hide from her.

"You used my powers like I wanted you to," she said calmly. "This was the reason I pledged myself to you. I'm glad you did it."

He was closer to breaking down and giving up now than he'd been for a long time. _I can't keep going on like this_, a distant part of his mind realized, but he couldn't stop himself, could only shake his head roughly and avoid her all too knowing eyes.

"You were wrong about me. I'm not good. I'm just not as bad as Wyatt," he whispered.

She shook her head again, this time decisively.

"That's not true. Don't believe what Leo and the sisters say, Fox. You said it yourself: They live in a different world. I tell you that you are a good man. And I know you better than they do."

Chris chuckled bitterly.

"You don't know the half of it, Hand."

She hesitated, and something darted across her face.

"Sarah," she said. And blushed.

"Pardon?" Had he missed something?

"Sarah," she repeated. "That's my real name, the one my parents gave me. Not many people know it, and the only one who used to call me that was Bianca, but perhaps…"

Something broke inside Chris' chest and he took a painful, gasping breath. In front of his very eyes the last vestiges of Hand, Wyatt's ruthless assassin, vanished, and what was left behind was a girl, younger even than he was, pretty in an everyday way, blushing over something as simple as her name. A girl his brother had enslaved. A girl he had forced to murder not an hour ago.

"How can you even look at me?" He whispered, wanting to shout and to weep at the same time but too tired to do either. "Don't you know what I've done?"

"I know everything I need to know," Hand… Sarah… said firmly.

And he only wanted her to stop. He wanted her to turn away in disgust, wanted her to abandon him like all the others had, one way or the other, wanted her to see the real Chris, the failure, the disappointment, because this? This trust, this belief, this warmth? It was unbearable.

"I was the reason my mother died," he confessed, willing to say anything, to admit to anything, if only she would stop looking at him as if he was her salvation. "She could have saved herself, but she stayed to protect me. Dad has never forgiven me for that."

She met his eyes calmly.

"I know," she said. "Lord Wyatt told me the whole story. And while you may have been the reason, it was not your fault."

"Bianca died to protect me," he continued, not knowing what it was he was doing here, but babbling on all the same. The floodgates had been opened, and, God, when had he become so needy, so dependent? What was he hoping for? Absolution? "So did Aunt Phoebe, and Kevin, and five whitelighters. Wyatt came for them and I couldn't do a thing."

"I know, Fox."

"When Wyatt tortured… When I was Wyatt's prisoner, he broke me. I betrayed the location of three hundred refugees, and he killed them all."

"I know, Fox. You held out for three months, longer than anyone else."

"I wanted to follow him, so, so badly," he was nearly sobbing now, and some part of him was ashamed that it felt so good. "I ignored so many things that he did, so many wrongs, only because I wanted to stay at his side."

"And yet you didn't."

"I…" he hesitated, even in this state aware that he was telling her things he shouldn't, that this was becoming downright dangerous. "I invented the spell he used to enslave you, the _servilis_. I thought it was right to do it at that time, but still I…"

For the first time she interrupted him. Her hand sneaked out, touched his hair, cupped his cheek, and there was no lie in her eyes as she spoke.

"I know. And it _was_ right."

He closed his eyes. He felt empty now, drained like a water reservoir after the damn had broken. Perhaps he would survive this another day. Perhaps she _did_ believe the things she was saying. Perhaps he could truly be weak with her.

And then another voice rang across the room, sharp and hard and _incredibly _cold, and something inside him shrivelled up and died.

"You did WHAT?" Piper yelled.


	25. The Nature of Mercy

A/N: Thank you for all your wonderful and thoughtful reviews! I know you must think I'm an evil person by now (and that might even be true), but the angst gets even worse in this one, and the revelation part is still several chapters in the future. Also, I've worked through the rest of the plot, and it's pretty much one huge cliffhanger from here on. Sorry about that, but the story just _wants_ to be written this way, I swear!

I hope you'll like it anyway…

This chapter starts after the sisters have relocated to the kitchen, but _before_ they listen in on Chris' confession to Sarah:

* * *

**The Nature of Mercy**

Phoebe wasn't sure what exactly she wanted to tell her sister, now that they were in the kitchen. Her intervention had been completely spontaneous – she had seen how exhausted Chris was, how hopeless and frustrated, and had wanted to give him a moment's peace before the inevitable confrontation.

_Tea,_ she thought. _Don't the English say that tea is the best thing in a crisis? Perhaps it helps._

So she settled her sisters and Leo down at the kitchen table and busied herself brewing a herbal tea that was supposed to 'relax and help you find your inner peace'. Sounded exactly like what they needed right now.

The mug of hot tea in her hands _did_ calm her, but from the look on Piper's face she suspected that she was the only one it helped.

"Look, sweetie," she began. "What Chris did was wrong, plain and simple, and you have every right to be angry with him. We _need _to talk about this, and we need to establish a few ground rules. To be honest, I'm as shocked as you are about what he did."

She was, really, if not completely surprised. She had known that Chris was ruthless and willing to sacrifice nearly everything to get the job done, but she hadn't expected this. Perhaps it made sense in his mind – Wyatt without them as his protectors had no chance at all of escaping his fate and so keeping the sisters alive was as important as protecting Wyatt, but she had seen Chris interacting with her nephew, and there seemed to be real affection there. To risk him like that…

"I'm not shocked, I'm furious," Piper said harshly, but she had gripped her mug and was holding it tight, as if it could console her. "I know we had our problems, but I'd never have expected him to…"

"Could somebody, _please_, tell me what it was he did?" Leo interrupted, more than a hint of frustration in his voice. Phoebe guessed that was fair, considering that his son had vanished and then they had orbed in all dirty and bloody. "Why did Wyatt orb to you? He hasn't been doing that for a few months now."

"He did it because Chris called for him," Paige answered with a sigh. Phoebe sent her a thankful look, knowing that Paige would give a more balanced account than Piper. "It was a trap, Leo. Gideon expected us, and the number of demons he recruited was unbelievable. Even the source never…" she broke off, chancing a look at Phoebe, and Piper used the chance to take over.

"He noticed us before we could get close," she said – _talk about glossing over, Piper!_ "And he admitted that he planned to kill Wyatt. He only didn't come for him right now because he knew you were with him, and… you should have seen the expression on his face, Leo! He's absolutely sure that killing our son is the right thing, the only thing to do! He believes he is saving the world…"

Without a word, Leo reached for her and took her in his arms, his face a mask of stony determination. Piper clung to him for a moment, but then pulled back and brushed a few tears away.

"Gideon had wards ready and waiting for us, so we couldn't escape, and he orbed away when the demons attacked. We fought, but without Hand and Chris we wouldn't have lasted a minute. They were…"

She stopped, looking a bit helpless, a feeling Phoebe understood all too well. How could they describe what they had seen? Phoebe had thought herself a veteran, considering the number of battles they had survived, but what Chris and Hand had done had given the word 'fighting' a whole new meaning. They had been like a force of nature, like a wave, finding their way through every crack in their enemies defences, wearing down superior power just by their determination and will.

That part of it reminded Phoebe a bit of Prue, stubborn, indefatigable Prue, but there was more to it than that, and she wasn't even beginning to understand what, exactly. Was it the sheer awe over how _good_ Chris was at what he'd done? But then she'd kind of assumed that from her afternoons in the cellar, from the precision of his every move. He'd taken the use of his powers to a whole other level than Prue ever had, and the ruthlessness he'd shown was just… eww. Even the thought of those necks breaking, those skulls imploding made her shudder. Sure, it had only been demons, but…

And that was the point, she realized as she listened to Piper's description of the battle. They had fought 'only' against demons, but that hadn't mattered at all, in fact she'd be surprised if Chris was any different in a battle with humans. In all her years as a witch, Phoebe had only ever taken one vanquish really hard: that of Cole.

Because he'd not only been a demon to her. He'd been a person. And so the vanquish had been personal, had not felt like the righteous fight against evil but like a killing. Like a murder. Vanquishing a demon (it wasn't killing, it was vanquishing!) had always seemed like make-believe to her before, like she wasn't really killing, only playing at it. With Cole, it had been hard, and true, and violent, and painful, because she'd _known_ there was a true mind inside that skull, a true heart inside that chest. That knowledge had been terrible, and she'd been glad when it had dimmed and gradually faded away, for how could she be expected to kill demons week after week when she saw them as persons?

But Chris and Hand, they saw the persons all the time, that much had been clear from the way they fought. And it made sense, she guessed. As Wyatt's slave, Hand had probably interacted with more demons that humans, and Chris spent more time in the Underworld on a daily basis than Phoebe spent at work. How couldn't they see all the experience and life and emotions in a demon's face?

And still they had killed them without remorse. In Phoebe's eyes, that made them more honourable and more terrifying at the same time.

"And then," Piper continued, her voice now vibrating with anger. "Instead of falling back or regrouping or conferring with us, he ordered Hand around, called for Wyatt, and Hand, she just, she _exploded_. Chris had Wyatt bring his shield up, and thank God that worked, otherwise we'd all been fried. _Including_ Wyatt."

Phoebe held her breath. Now Leo would explode again, like he always did when one of Chris' misdeeds was exposed, and he and Piper would wind each other up until they would both attack Chris, who would then orb away…

"I see," Leo said calmly.

Phoebe's breath escaped in a gasp. She hadn't expected that reaction. And neither had Piper.

"You _see_?" she repeated, a dangerous tone in her voice. "You've been the first to blame him these past months, and now he's kidnapped your son and endangered his life, and you _see_?"

Leo hesitated for a moment, not quite meeting his ex-wife's gaze.

"What he did was wrong," he then said. "And I'm going to bust his ass for it sooner or later, but he did it to save you, Piper. He saved your lives. How could I blame him for that?"

Piper sniffed the way she always did when she was touched but wouldn't admit it.

"So what?" She asked, the anger still there but ebbing away steadily. "We should just ignore he did it? We should just let him be?"

"No, of course not," Paige stepped in. She seemed to share Phoebe's ambivalence towards Chris. "But perhaps we should concentrate on the more urgent stuff first, like getting clean and protecting the house from Gideon. And I need to eat something. And sleep. I feel like I haven't sat down for a week, and Chris and Hand must be even worse."

Phoebe looked at her youngest sister with admiration. If all else failed, appealing to Piper's mother-bear-nature was the perfect thing to do. Piper might be willing to explode people on a daily basis, but just hint at the lack of good meals or a solid eight hours of sleep and she would switch into care-mode immediately. Perhaps not for people she truly disliked, but she had warmed up to Hand over the past weeks, and sometimes Phoebe hoped that her sister's feelings towards their whitelighter were beginning to change, too.

Anger draining visibly from her face, Piper met their eyes and nodded.

"Perhaps you're right," she agreed, then warned them: "But we _are_ going to talk about this, and if Chris doesn't agree to a few ground rules…"

"Then you can explode him," Paige agreed readily. "Come on, then."

Well, this had gone better than she'd expected, Phoebe thought as they all got up and left the kitchen. For now they'd rest and relax, and once the atmosphere wasn't so heated anymore…

They turned the corner and saw Chris sitting on the ground besides Hand, looking strangely small and scruffy there on the floor. He was talking quickly, babbling, really, his voice younger and somehow more vulnerable, and Phoebe sympathetically imagined how exhausted he must feel. Then his words filtered in, and all other thoughts stopped.

"I invented the spell he used to enslave you," Chris whispered. "The _servilis_. I thought it was right to do it at that time, but still I…"

At first, the words simply refused to make sense. Phoebe stood frozen in the doorway, the others just as frozen around her, and watched in silent disbelief as Hand, the former slave, the _victim_, reached out and caressed Chris' cheek.

"I know. And it _was_ right," she whispered, with the strength and conviction of an absolving priest. They seemed to have that effect on Chris, certainly, who closed his eyes and just _sagged_ with relief.

And Phoebe couldn't understand. She just couldn't. She'd had this picture of Chris in her mind, of a fighter, surely, of someone who did not always share her moral code, but of a brave and honourable person that was just doing the right thing.

Not of someone who was willing so sacrifice a small child. Not of someone who wrote spells to enslave others.

"You did WHAT?" Piper yelled.

Phoebe flinched, but for once she felt no impulse to calm Piper down.

Chris came to his feet awkwardly and spun around to them. There was nothing there of his usual grace. His eyes went wide, then darted through the room as if searching for an escape route.

"How…" he whispered, nothing of the battle-proven general left in him. "How much did you hear?"

"THAT is the most important thing you have to say right now?" Piper yelled. "You endanger my son, you enslave people, and all you care about is keeping your goddamn secrets? I swear, Chris, I'm in a mood to vanquish you right now!"

Phoebe expected him to counter her in his usual mixture of stubbornness and irritation, but, as it had happened with all her expectations on this day of days, nothing of the like happened. Chris simply stood there, slightly hunched in on himself, still-wide eyes searching face after face. Saying nothing.

"Don't just stand there!" Piper snapped, her hands half-raised in the all too familiar gesture. "Tell us what you did and why you did it, or I won't be held accountable for my actions, you lying, cheating…"

Chris took a gasping breath, his shoulders sinking lower and hunching forward as if he was cradling himself in a storm.

"There are… future consequences to all this that you cannot imagine," he said, but something in his voice wasn't right. Something was missing, and Phoebe couldn't place it…

"THERE ARE CONSEQUENCES IN THE PRESENT, TOO!" Piper yelled, taking a threatening step forward. Chris actually flinched, as if she had struck him again. "I will ask only once, Chris, and if you do not answer, you'll see what I'm truly capable of, I swear! Did you invent that spell?"

Another gasping breath. Chris looked as if he had been running a marathon. But there was no way to run from this, from Piper's determination, and he knew it as well as they.

So he gave in.

"Yes," he said quietly.

Phoebe noticed that Hand had half risen from her place on the sofa, pale and unsteady, but determined to get into this. To protect the one who'd done all this to her. The man whose fault it was.

He didn't even bother looking at her, just raised his hand in her direction and shook his head sharply.

"Stay out of this, Hand," he commanded. "No matter what happens. This isn't worth it."

This wasn't worth it? How could he do that to her? To any of them? Phoebe had sparred with him, and researched with him, and shared his triumph and worry, and she'd really thought they'd connected! She had even cried in front of him, once, when all the fears had become too much and the picture of Hand, writhing in a pain caused by her nephew, had haunted her every dream! And he'd been the cause of that pain, in truth, and he hadn't told her! He'd handed them snippets of his future, painful and terrible, and expected them to back off, but he hadn't told them that! He had just used them, as he'd been using them from the very beginning, and she felt dirty somehow, stupid and slow, and she'd…

"How _could_ you?" She whispered, and although her voice was barely audible after Piper's shouting, he flinched under her words as if they were a whip.

"There was no choice," he answered bitterly. "You can't imagine what it was like, when Wyatt took power and the world turned upside down. It might be wrong from your perspective, but I was in a war, and we were desperate, and you don't know…"

"I may not know what your future is like, Chris," Piper interrupted him. "But I know what is wrong and right, something you've obviously forgotten or never learned. And that spell is wrong, it's evil, and I can't believe that you had the gall to sit here and treat Hand like that, let us worry about her and help her, when all the time _you_ were the reason these things have happened to her!"

"I wasn't the reason!" Chris protested. "It wasn't like that! I would never have done that to anybody!"

"Why did you write the spell, then?" Paige asked. She had been supportive of Chris for the past weeks, nearly as much as Phoebe, but she'd also seen a lot of human pain over her years as social worker, and if anything got to her, it was injustice.

When she looked at Chris now, her eyes were cold and hard. She looked at him like she would at a demon.

"You must have planned to use it on someone! You must have wanted _someone_ to suffer the way Hand suffered! I thought you understood! I thought you were fighting for the same things we are! I thought you'd been a victim, too…"

"I was NEVER a victim," Chris roared, his sudden anger a shock to Phoebe. The images in her head of him killing were all too fresh, and he was still wearing the weapons Hand had given to him. She took a step back, expecting the triquetras to start swarming around him any moment, and that gesture seemed to make him even angrier.

"God, I wished I could have been!" He shouted. "But I didn't have a choice, did I? Wyatt was going evil, and you were no help at all! What _should_ I have done? I was _fifteen_, God damn it! There were not good options, no right ways! I couldn't lie back and be a victim, could I? I was the only one left, and so I did what I had to do! You would have done the same!"

"No, Chris," Leo interrupted him harshly. He'd been quiet till now, but Phoebe could see that he shared Paige's anger, could see that this truth had hit him as harshly as the others, despite his long held suspicions. But who could have suspected this?

"You can tell yourself that, but no good witch would have written that spell. And no good witch would have acted the way you did here, lying and cheating and deceiving us every step of the way. You had your chances to come clean, but you didn't! I know it was you who sent me to Valhalla, I know you manipulated the sisters, I know you killed a Valkyrie and probably countless others when they were in your way. You aren't a good witch, Chris, and you certainly aren't a whitelighter!"

"I never wanted any of that," Chris shouted. "But I _had_ to, don't you see? It was the only way!"

"And risking Wyatt was the only way to get out of there. So you did it," Piper said coldly.

"I needed to keep you alive!" Chris protested wildly. "Without you, Wyatt stands no chance; Gideon will turn him evil, and if that was the alternative, I'd rather…"

He stopped himself, but Piper, once again too angry to yell, understood him all too well.

"And if that was the alternative," she continued for him, calmly, deliberately. "You'd rather he died alongside with us than survive."

Chris' face went grey, as if he only now realized the trap he'd stepped into, as if he only now understood that this wasn't simply another one of their quarrels. He took in their faces, Piper's ice old anger, and made a short, abrupt gesture with his head.

Then he tried to orb away, as he'd done so often over the past months when a discussion got too heated, but Leo had obviously expected that reaction and was ready for it.

The Elder leapt forward, catching Chris before he had dematerialized completely, grabbed his shirt and _slammed_ him against the wall. Chris' breath went out of him in a big whoosh, his head hit the wall behind him. He seemed dazed for a moment, disoriented, and the confusion and despair in his eyes was honest as he met Leo's gaze.

But Leo didn't care.

"Answer her," he said icily. "Answer her now, or I swear I'll have the other Elders send you back to your future. And I won't care what happens to you there, Chris! Answer!"

Chris' eyes delved into Leo's, searching it for the truth and finding it. Leo was serious. And so were Piper and Paige, standing to Leo's sides, their arms folded, every gesture screaming aggression.

Again, Chris let his head fall back against the whole. He closed his eyes. A shudder overtook his whole body, rocked it violently for just a second, then vanished. When he opened his eyes again, something was different.

He looked older to Phoebe, and younger at the same time, stripped of layers and layers she hadn't even noticed before. He looked different, somehow, _familiar_, and something was whispering to Phoebe in her thoughts, telling her to notice…

Something was missing from his gaze. Perhaps it was the lies. Perhaps they were finally seeing the true Chris.

"Yes," he said quietly. "If it came down to that, yes. He's done too much damage. I can't allow that to happen again. I would die to save him, but if I had no choice, I'd rather kill him myself than let him become the Wyatt I know."

Silence stretched between them, a silence of disbelief and pain. Phoebe felt oddly calm, as if the fulfilment of her worst fears had taken every other thought away and left emptiness behind.

She didn't look at him. She simply couldn't. Despite all the reasons he'd given her not to, she'd trusted this man with her life and the lives of her family. And he'd betrayed that trust. There was nothing else to say.

Until Piper stepped forward and spoke for them all, with the absolute finality of the law.

"Get out of this house, Chris," she said. "And don't ever come back."

Shock spread across his face.

"You can't do that," he protested. "Not now! We have to find Gideon, and I need…"

"I can and I must," she interrupted him, making very clear that she didn't care about his needs. Not one bit. "I will protect my family from any danger, and if that means to protect them from you, then I'll do it. Don't make me vanquish you."

He blinked, as if the very thought was unthinkable to him. His eyes were pleading with her, a silent, desperate plea. She shrugged it away.

"My Piper would have understood," he whispered, and Phoebe wasn't sure who he was trying to convince – Piper or himself.

"She wouldn't," Piper disagreed, the same cold, hard finality in her voice. "In fact, I'm sure that this future-Piper, whatever has happened to her, would agree with me that you've gone bad, Chris. I can't trust you, and she wouldn't either. You're no help anymore, you're a threat to our family and our home and that's why you're gonna leave and stay gone. You're not a part of this any longer."

"I've always been a part of this," he disagreed, but it sounded feeble and insecure. "You can't change that!"

"I can. I don't know why the Charmed Ones of your time put up with you, Chris, but _we_ only accepted your behaviour for so long because you were useful to us. Now you're dangerous, not useful. So you will leave, and you will not hurt this family any longer."

Chris' eyes were unnaturally bright as he met her gaze, searching for understanding and finding none. He completely ignored Leo's hands that still held him pressed against the wall – all his attention was on Piper, and his face held a strangely tender expression as he regarded her.

"I… never wanted to hurt you, Piper. I didn't mean…," he whispered, and finally Phoebe realized what was wrong with him. He looked broken. He looked as if all that never ending strength had bled out of him, leaving someone who was frail and vulnerable and completely hopeless.

Doubt rose in her mind, the suspicion that all this was even more complicated than she had believed, that her understanding of Chris, while flawed, hadn't been as far from the truth as she'd thought. If he didn't care about them, why was he hurting so much? Could all this be an act? But the thought was weak and quiet in her mind, and there was too much tumult around her to work it out.

"You may not have meant it," Piper interrupted words that were going nowhere. "But it happened, somewhere along the way. Evil does that to people. You're not one of us, Chris. You'll never be. We don't want you here. Now will you leave of your own free will, or does Leo have to send you back to your future?"

Chris closed his eyes against her words, but not before a single tear spilled over the rim of his lashes, leaving a shining downward path on his skin. His face twisted, convulsing with a pain Phoebe could neither understand nor name, and then Chris took a deep, labouring breath.

And his face went blank. All emotion vanished, all traces that the last hours had ever happened, and when he opened his eyes again, he was a stranger, someone passing them in the street, someone who didn't care about them at all.

The sight made Phoebe's heart ache, though she didn't know why.

"I'll leave," he said, his voice once again calm and under perfect control. "Perhaps you're right. I'm sorry, for what it's worth."

His gaze swept over them, not meeting their eyes, not resting on them, as if he'd never seen them before. It lingered only on Hand.

"Stay here," he told her, cold and commanding as if she were a dog. "Guard the sisters. Remember your pledge."

He looked pointedly at Leo's hands, still clenched in his shirt, and Leo untangled them quickly, wanting to end the contact as soon as possible. Chris' hands were steady as he straightened the shirt, and his back was very straight as he nodded to them.

"I'll get my things from P3 and be out of your hair. Good luck."

* * *

A/N: You didn't expect that, did you? The next chapter should take about a week – please make me happy and review!


	26. Family

**A/N:** So here's the new chapter, earlier than planned because you're all mad, people, and I love you for it! Your reviews are not only enormously supportive, they're also thoughtful, and clever, and give me a new perspective on what I'm doing. You're all part of the writing process, guys!

Here follows a short excursion about poetry:

**This is an answer to jenny:** Don't ever be afraid to ask! The title of the story is a line from T.S. Eliot's poem "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock". There are many interpretations about what it means, because no one knows for sure (Eliot is a brilliant poet, which makes him _complicated_). But the poem as a whole is about choices in life and someone who isn't sure of his own identity, someone who considers himself boring, unimportant and knows about it, but perhaps always wanted to be more (if you want to read more of the poem, just google it or go to my profile, there's another excerpt of it there).

I chose this particular line for two reasons: First because I think that Chris in the series and the Chris in my story is never happy with who he is and what he did and, basically, just wanted to lead a normal life but couldn't. The other reason lies in the 'pair' of ragged claws. The idea that led to this story was this: What would happen if Chris wasn't alone in the past, but had someone by his side who came from a similar background and understood what he was doing, someone who would support him against the sisters and allow him to be who he really is around them. In working together, Chris and Sarah can be a _pair_ of claws, and that makes them stronger and less lonely.

So there – a long answer, but I hope it's of interest to you. I too often wonder these sort of things about stories, and since I've studied English literature myself, I've spent hours analyzing them…

… Poetry rant now official over! On to the story! It's my longest chapter yet…

* * *

**Family**

"But he isn't a danger to you!" Hand protested for what seemed like the hundredth time. "If only you'd listen to his reasons…"

Piper, arms folded across her chest, just regarded the girl with the same determination she had shown during this whole, hellishly long day.

"I know you believe that, Hand," she said calmly. "And I would certainly talk to you about how _you_ feel about all this, but we've wasted far too much time puzzling over Chris' reasons and motives. I for one just want to stop Gideon and get back to my normal life, and I'd really like you to respect that."

As she had ever since Chris had orbed out thirty minutes ago, Hand refused to meet Piper's eyes directly. When he had left, cold and under perfect control, she hadn't shared the Charmed One's relief, not one bit. Instead, she had stared at the spot where he'd stood with a forlorn expression, then levelled them all with an accusing stare and started arguing.

It had gone downhill from there.

Hand had been adamant that Chris' actions could be justified and that they were making a terrible mistake, and she'd shrugged each and every attempt of the sisters to talk about _her _feelings away as if she didn't matter at all.

She'd also kept a safe distance from them all, especially Leo, and had avoided any physical contact, as if she couldn't be trusted not to harm them if they came too close.

That above all things told Phoebe how furious the girl really was, and that in turn made the uneasy feeling in Phoebe's belly unfold and grow. Sure, there was such a thing as Stockholm syndrome, but if Hand had shown anything over the past day, it was that she could – and would – protect herself. There had to be a reason why she fought for Chris so strongly and consistently, right?

Whether Hand had detected the ring of frustration in Piper's voice or was simply ready to give up on her own, she finally seemed willing to back off.

"May I offer advice, then?" She asked after a moment of strained silence. "I've been in conflict with Elders before…"

"Why, anyway?" Leo threw in, who'd been watching the girl this past hour with quiet interest. He hadn't seen her fight, hadn't seen much of her except the surprising fealty oath earlier the day (God, had that really been_ today_? It felt like ages ago!), and the way she had argued in favour of Chris, calm and decisive, had obviously surprised him. "What fights did you have with Elders?"

Hand just sent him a glare. She had taken a real dislike to him, it seemed, and her comments about 'hypocritical Elders' had nearly caused another confrontation not ten minutes ago. So it didn't surprise Phoebe when she drew herself up a bit and answered, with a surprising amount of arrogance and obvious enjoyment: "Future consequences, _Leo_."

"What advice?" Paige asked, sounding tired and unwilling to endure yet another quarrel. She had been another recipient of accusing stares, since Hand had obviously expected her to support Chris and couldn't understand where Paige was coming from.

To Phoebe's relief, Hand didn't dwell on the point, merely turned towards Phoebe as if she'd been the one who'd asked, and concentrated on her.

"For one, I'd place wards around the house, strong wards, enough to keep all demons and especially Elders out. I don't really know why you didn't do so before, but it would at least make sure that Wyatt can't be kidnapped from here. And then we need a plan how to relocate and confront Gideon, if possible without him knowing about it. That might be difficult…"

She trailed off, already deep in thought, but Phoebe was still working on the first bit of advice.

"Wards?" She asked. "What exactly do you mean? Something like our demon warning system, a kind of burglar alert? But that would just tell us _when_ demons arrive, not keep them out…"

Hand stared at her incredulously.

"Are you telling me that you don't know how to ward against intruders?" She asked. "But didn't…

Phoebe knew how that sentence would end, and something in her chest ached over this new proof of betrayal. _But didn't Chris_ _show you how to do that?_ Yet another thing their Whitelighter had never bothered to tell them. But Hand was too diplomatic to say that.

"I can teach you, or do it myself," she offered instead. "If I start now, it should be done by dawn. I'll need a drop of blood from everyone you want to key into the wards, but apart from that you have everything I need in the house already."

Piper thought it over, sharing a glance with her sisters and Leo.

"Do it," she then said. "You can teach us later, but I want the wards in place as quickly as possible. I probably won't sleep before they're up. It will be good to have the house safe from Gideon. And from Chris."

Hand nodded, but she didn't look happy, and after another moment of hesitation she opened her mouth to speak. _Here we go again, _Phoebe thought_. _

"I'm sorry, but I just don't understand you," Hand said.

"You don't have to, Hand," Piper admonished her. "The decision's made. And you don't know us well enough to judge the situation, anyway."

"But from what I know of your history, you've all been evil at one point," Hand just couldn't let it rest. "You've all lost your way. You've done far worse things and forgiven each other, and yet you judge him that easily?"

"That's different," Leo disagreed, and Hand sighed with exasperation.

"How is it different?"

"Because we're family," Piper stated. "And Chris isn't. And that won't change, no matter how long you keep going at us."

Hand lowered her head, both hands clenched to fists.

"I see," she said after a long moment of silence. "If that is how you feel. I only wish…"

But they would never find out what she'd wished for, because she interrupted herself and shook her head in an abortive gesture.

"I should start my preparations," she then said abruptly. "I would like to clean up and rest for a bit before attempting the spell, if you don't mind."

"Sure," Phoebe agreed quickly, happy that there was something she could do. "But you should really move out of the cellar, honey. Take one of the guest rooms, they're much more comfortable."

Hand sent her a long, not very friendly look. Something in her eyes told Phoebe that she was thinking of Chris, out on the streets, alone and without a place to stay at all.

"No, thank you," she said slowly, and very precisely. "The cellar suits me perfectly."

She left the room without looking at Piper once.

* * *

Outwardly, Sarah might appear perfectly calm and collected to anybody around her, but her thoughts were a different thing. She had perfected the mask of Hand over the years so that no shock, no pain would tear it down, but in truth the events of the day had left her feeling ragged and raw.

There was just too much to deal with, too many thoughts and observations dancing through her mind, and she couldn't afford the time to work through them right now. Fox depended on her to keep his family safe. Even if they didn't deserve it.

She'd been half decided to follow him, never mind his direct command, but that would have been foolhardy, and she hadn't allowed herself to follow dangerous impulses for years. So it was waiting for her, waiting and protecting those she in truth wanted to smash to pieces for what they had done. But bending her own will had become second nature to her, and perhaps this way there was at least something she could do for him.

She waited until she had closed the cellar door behind her and placed anti-listening wards – small and feeble things in comparison to what she could do with a bit of time, but they would at least alert her if anyone came near.

Then, she sat down on her camp bed and concentrated.

She knew this should be possible – she had been able to do it with Wyatt, after all, and Fox and her former Lord shared that ability as they'd shared so many things. But she had never tried it before with the younger brother, and she just hoped he wouldn't consider her too forward.

She took a deep breath.

"Fox," she then said quietly. Touching a whitelighter's mind didn't depend on the volume of ones voice, just on the intent.

"I…"

She broke off, unsure how to proceed. This form of contact was rather intimate, something Lord Wyatt had enjoyed, but she didn't know about Fox. So she opted for the formal.

"I hope you are well. I have followed your commands and will begin warding the house. The process should be complete around dawn, and the sisters will probably go to sleep once the house is safe. If you wish to meet with me, I will wait for you outside the kitchen door at six o'clock. I will have provisions and equipment ready for you."

She hesitated.

"I am sorry," she then whispered into the air, her heart too full to suppress every emotion. "This isn't your fault, please believe me. I wish there was more I could do."

She sat silently for a moment, listening to the echo of her lonely voice. Whitelighters could hear their charges and those connected to them from all over the world – another reason she had pledged to Fox this morning -, but they had no way of answering. Whatever Fox was doing, he was on his own for now.

He wouldn't break under this, she knew him well enough to be sure of that. He wouldn't wallow in his feelings or nurse his pain. Instead, he would shove it all away and concentrate on the task he still had to do, in total disregard of his own needs.

He was probably in the underworld already, chasing after Gideon. He was probably trying his best to forget the events of the day, because that was the only way he could function after what had happened, after what _they_ did to him.

Tonight, Sarah was profoundly happy that she'd never had a family, not if this was what they did to you. But then she remembered her best friend, a phoenix with a bright future ahead of her, Wyatt's favourite weapon before Hand came along. Bianca had given it all up for Fox, choosing to make him her family despite all the dangers that brought with it, and she'd died for him willingly, preferring that pain to the loneliness without him.

"I'm sorry, Bianca," she whispered. "I tried to keep him safe for you. But it's a good deal harder than you ever let on."

Another echo in an empty room. But this message would never receive an answer, and when she remembered her best friend, Bianca's worry over the man she had loved and her determination to help him, grief filled her heart, heavy and numbing.

Then she closed her eyes and concentrated on the task at hand. Sentimentality wouldn't help, here. There was still an Elder out there, waiting for a chance to sneak into the house and ruin the thing Fox and fought for, Bianca had died for. It was up to her to stop him.

Recalling what she knew about warding was an easy task. Her old master had trained her well, if harshly, and the memory techniques she had learned in early childhood ensured that no lesson would ever be forgotten.

She needed a simple type of warding, something that could be erected without too much effort and without being visible to the non-magic neighbours, something that wouldn't put the mansion on the magical radar even more than it already was. But the wards also needed to be strong enough to repel the strongest of opponents and they needed to be flexible enough to be keyed to a number of different people, not all of the same blood.

Her mind flitted through lessons she'd taken and books she'd read, through memories of wards she had encountered or been told about, discarding some and categorizing others for possible use.

Then, she turned towards her knowledge about the Elders and came upon a memory of Lord Wyatt from the days before his attack on their stronghold.

_She was walking besides him through the halls of his palace, arms folded in the small of her back, head tilted towards him just the way he liked. He was talking to her, quietly, earnestly, the way he only did when he was truly interested. Sometimes, when they were alone and he thought himself safe, all that cockiness and arrogance fell away from him, making place for his genuine interest in magical theory. He hadn't much book learning, this ruler of the magical world, but he had an intuitive understanding of magic that rivalled even the oldest and wisest of his counsellors. _

"_Elders," he said, his dark, rich voice resonating with disgust. "Their greatest weakness is their flashiness, and you can always get them at their ego. They will throw their most powerful weapons at you, their strongest allies. They will electrocute you, or unleash the Gods on you, but they would never instruct a mortal to simply shoot you down. They are powerful, and they want the rest of the world to know it."_

_He must have read something in the line of her body, in her perfectly calm face, for he stopped and turned towards her fully. _

"_Yes," he smiled, a chuckle hidden in his voice. Those who met him for the first time always remarked in surprise how easygoing he was, how warm. They would consider him 'not so bad' right until he burned them to death where they stood. And, mostly, they would be right about it. "I know what you're not saying. That sounds just like a description of me."_

_She judged his mood, found him playful and risked a small smile, knowing that he would appreciate a gesture of independence under these circumstances. She'd been serving him for two years now and found it increasingly easy to judge his expectations. _

"_But you're not flashy," she chanced to comment and was rewarded with an even broader smile. _

"_And I'm not as sanctimonious," he added. "They're all hypocritical, those 'supreme beings of good'. They are blind for their true nature, and that makes them vulnerable. That's the weakness I'll exploit, and I'll crush them in my fist."_

_He looked her up and down, noticing that she wore the new battle robes he had commissioned for her. _

"_You will kill them for me, my servant, my Hand," he whispered. "I will enjoy watching it."_

* * *

Sarah worked steadily through the night, mixing the ingredients for the ward line, then chanting the requisite spells and embedding the raw power into them. They took a lot of power – it was a good thing that she hadn't had much use for her magic over the past weeks. She had built up a huge reserve that even the battle against Gideon's demons hadn't depleted, and so she had enough strength left to perform the warding itself.

If not added to, the protective spells would stay active for at least three months. She sincerely hoped that the danger would be over by then, or that Fox would somehow be reunited with his family so that he could help her with stabilizing them. He was an expert at warding from what she had seen of abandoned and captured Resistance buildings, and his help would have really made this easier. Not that there was any use telling that to the Charmed Ones, she thought bitterly.

Before the first rays of dawn touched the bay, her preparations were finished. She gathered her supplies and left the basement, only to find said Charmed Ones and their pet Elder sitting in the kitchen, bleary eyed and on the point of collapse.

She forbade herself any thought about their softness – it wouldn't do to antagonise them further, and she wanted nothing more than to send them off to bed as soon as possible so that she could meet with Fox. Instead, she concentrated on appearing calm and in control, hoping that they wouldn't ask too many questions about the process. Fox probably had a good reason for not teaching them this, and she didn't want to compromise his plans.

"I need your blood," she said shortly. "It will key you into the wards and strengthen them at the same time."

The sisters stretched out their hands without hesitation, but Leo shifted uneasily on his chair, probably knowing better than they how much mischief someone like Hand could do with the blood of an Elder or a powerful good witch.

"I'll do it," he then offered, and only years of self-control prevented her from rolling her eyes. Really. She could strip them of their power and kill them all in a heartbeat, and he worried that she would misuse their blood?

"Mix it carefully with the base," she instructed instead of informing him in every detail of her thought. "Then circle the house and garden once and make sure the line isn't broken anywhere. I want the dome to go up before it's light outside, so no one will notice what's going on."

Leo was still eyeing her sceptically as if watching out for dark magic, but he nodded quietly and followed her instructions.

"What now?" He asked when he returned to the kitchen, and this time she _did_ roll her eyes. She even earned a smile from Paige for that gesture; obviously childishness was encouraged by the sisters. It made her appear harmless, and harmless was what she wanted to be to Fox's family. Right until it didn't serve her interests anymore.

"Now I do this," she answered and concentrated on the magic line that now surrounded the mansion. Finding it unbroken and powerful, she nodded with satisfaction, reached deep into her core of power and threw her magic out over the house like a bell jar, covering every inch above the earth. She reached deeper and added another bell jar, this time under the house, so that no one could shimmer or burrow in from under them. She'd once killed a nest of demons that way, and it hadn't been pretty for them.

Then, she clapped her hands, the sound resonating with her magic, making it pulse and grow. Once, she clapped. Twice. Thrice.

And like a glowing ball of glass, like Lord Wyatt's magical shield, a dome sprang up around the house, shimmering light blue for a moment, then yellow, then silver, before vanishing into thin air. Only her carefully honed senses told her that it was still there and holding strong.

When she returned her attention to the kitchen, she saw that the sisters were looking at her with something like awe.

"That was beautiful," Phoebe said, typically. Paige nodded silently, and even Piper seemed a bit overwhelmed. Not for the first time, Sarah was surprised by how little the sisters seemed used to more complicated uses of magic, as if they had never quite gotten beyond the level of rhyming spells.

"And this will keep Wyatt safe?" Piper asked. "No demon or Elder can enter the house?"

Sarah nodded.

"That should do the trick," she told them. "No one with magical powers can enter except you invite them in – I'll show you how that's done later. Non-magical people can enter, to avoid suspicion, but the wards will warn me when they cross the line. You're safe. You can go to bed now."

* * *

She was hiding by the back door when Chris reached the house, and only the fact that she stood up in greeting made him see her in time. He had decided to approach the manor on foot, not sure if Sarah's wards would alert the family to orbs and magic in the area. He swept an assessing gaze over the wards, then waited for her at their edge. They weren't as refined as what he'd have done with a bit of time, but they would do for now.

She walked towards him slowly, a bulging rucksack on her back, a duffel in her hand. That had to be the 'equipment' she'd spoken of, he thought with a vague sense of relief. Supplies would make his life easier over the next week, but he couldn't spare much thought for practicalities right now. Merely functioning demanded all his strength and concentration.

_Get it together, Chris_, he told himself fiercely. _You can fall apart when Gideon is dead, not a moment sooner!_

She hesitated when she reached him, and her gaze flickered across the open space behind him, scanning for dangers like he had scanned the house. She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again, looking unsure of herself. He had noticed the same insecurity in her – very surprising and slightly unsettling – message, and although he didn't really have the time or the strength for other people's problems right now, he nodded to indicate that she could speak.

"Are you all right?" She asked what had become her trademark-question by now.

He shrugged.

"Still alive," he answered, slightly shocked at how bitter he sounded, how jaded. "That's all that counts, after all."

She nodded, not to agree with him but to indicate that she understood.

"You don't look so good," she commented calmly, and he answered the understatement with a chuckle of dry amusement. He looked like hell, and he knew it. 'Not fit for polite society', his mother would have called it, but he shied away from the memory immediately. He didn't need the face of his mother in his head, today of all days.

"Neither do you," he answered. It was true. From the dark circles under her eyes and the pallor of the skin he judged that she hadn't rested since turning into a firewall, and erecting these wards on such short notice must have been an additional drain. "Didn't they let you sleep at all?"

Now it was her time to shrug.

"I'm not that good a sleeper at the best of times," she said quietly.

He nodded. "I know what you mean."

An awkward silence developed then, filled with the scenes of the last evening and his own confessions. He felt his own tension pulling at his own body, keeping his muscles stiff and his back painfully straight. This was what Bianca had called his 'volcano-stage', not far from erupting, and he needed to _do _something, to keep moving, or one of Piper's emotion explosions would be nothing against the meltdown.

"Fox," she said after a moment, and without thinking, he interrupted her.

"Chris," he corrected her softly. "Call me Chris, Sarah."

The simple gesture surprised her, and for the first time this morning she met his eyes unguardedly.

"I cannot stand being around them," she confessed heatedly. "What they said to you… how they treated you… I want to shout the truth in their faces and add a fist for good measure!"

Exhaustion weighed heavily on his shoulders.

"You won't change their minds," he said tiredly. "Just make things worse. I… perhaps I deserved it in a way…"

"You did NOT!" She interrupted him fiercely. "They didn't even give you time to explain, just sprang it on you and then…"

He closed his eyes against the memory.

"Let it be, Sarah," he told her quietly. "We have other priorities."

For a moment, she looked as if she wanted to protest, and he felt her searching eyes on his face. He didn't know what she found, but she nodded silently, accepting his request, and he couldn't quite suppress a sigh of relief.

"You're still alive," she whispered. "And one day they'll know what you did for them."

Against his bidding, an image of that day rose in his mind, of his aunts and mother welcoming him home, of his father apologizing and finally recognizing his worth, of his brother, not tainted by the darkness… he'd pictured it often, taking refuge in the daydream whenever things got just a little too hard to bear, but he couldn't afford to live in dreams, especially not now.

"What matters at them moment is only that they survive until I've found Gideon," he said harshly, perhaps too harshly, but one look at her convinced him that she understood.

That was the wonderful thing about having her here, he decided in that moment. Someone who understood, without arguing all the time, without needing explanation after explanation. Someone who'd accept his need to let things rest for the time and who'd have his back when the necessity arose. Someone who'd _been_ there.

"I'm glad I can trust you with that," he confessed.

She blushed. It made her look young and oddly endearing.

"So you trust me, now?"

He wondered how to express what had happened to him back at the manor, when she'd offered him the secret of her real name, before Piper had come down on him with her holy anger.

"I've trusted you ever since I met Sarah," he said, and her blush deepened.

Another silence descended on them as they stood together at the edge of the wards, watching the sun rise, but this one was comforting, filled with all the things they didn't need to tell each other. Then she shrugged the backpack from her shoulder and handed it to him.

"I've brought you vanquishing potions and most of the basic potions supplies," she explained quickly. "There are also a spare pair of crystals, a few athames and semiprecious stones for warding in the duffle. The backpack is full of maps and a few of the books on Elders the sisters have already worked through. They shouldn't miss them."

"Thank you," he said, meaning it. "That will help tremendously. I'll spend much of my time in the underworld these next days, but you can call me anytime there's an emergency. Do not hesitate to do so. I don't care if the sisters don't let me in through the wards or throw me out again afterwards – we must make sure they are safe!"

She nodded, then hesitated again.

"Can I… can I talk to you, now and again, the Whitelighter way?" She asked quietly, saw the refusal rising in his eyes and added hastily: "You need to remember that you're not alone in this, Chris! That's what Bianca always said to me: We need to remember that we aren't alone, or we'll all go crazy and lie down to die, and she was right!"

…_you're not alone in this_…

To his acute anger and embarrassment, Chris felt the tears rise to his eyes. The voice of his mother was too fresh in his mind, yelling at him that he wasn't one of them, wasn't part of the family, that he wasn't wanted now that his usefulness had ended. He'd told himself the same things over and over again, trying to harden himself against his own fears, but now that they'd become reality, he was as helpless against them as if he'd never seen it coming.

"God," he whispered, half turning away and rubbing at his eyes violently. "I'm not a fucking child anymore! I shouldn't be…"

She stopped his outbreak by stepping closer to him and taking his hand. For a moment he wondered what she was up to, but then he felt a prick of pain and saw his own blood drip from his finger, touching the ground and the ward line.

She whispered a spell, and for one heartbeat the dome was visible around the house again, blue-silver and shining with power.

"What did you do that for?" He asked, surprised.

She met his eyes and her lips curled upwards slowly.

"I've added you to the wards. This is your home, even if its inhabitants are too stupid to see it right now."

He felt his breath catch in his throat. It was a simple gesture and only logical from a strategic point of view, but in this moment of emotional weakness it meant so much more to him.

Piper might have denied his place in the family last night, but this morning, Sarah had given it back to him. Again his eyes were burning, but this time it felt good, cleansing, strengthening.

He even managed a little smile.

"They wouldn't like that," he said quietly.

Sarah just shrugged.

"Who cares? I answer to you, not to them."

Such loyalty. He had shot the whole thing to hell with his stupidity, and still she stood by his side as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

"Yes," he found himself saying suddenly. "I would like you calling on me. Any time. And I'll try to be here every morning at sunrise."

Her smile was a surprise every single time, turning Hand into Sarah and Sarah into a beauty.

"At sunrise," she agreed. "I'll be waiting for you here."

* * *

**A/N:** I hoped the chapter didn't disappoint? This is the first longer part narrated from Sarah's point of view, and I hope it works out. And another thing: Did you enjoy the flashback? If you like them, I can keep them coming now and again, to tell you more about the unchanged future, so just tell me what you thought about that!


	27. Alone

**A/N**: Thank you for all your thoughtful reviews! Some of you are just scarily clever, but that's all I'm saying…

To answer a few questions: I can't say how long the story will be exactly, because there are still a few subplots I haven't quite figured out yet. But there are at least 15 more chapters to go, and it could be quite a few more.

There won't be a Chris-Hand pairing in this story. Some of you seem to worry about that quite a bit. This will firmly stay on the level of friendship for all the good reasons you have pointed out in your reviews. We'll talk again when we reach the sequel… if there will be a sequel (do you _want_ a sequel?).

A few reviewers have stated that they would like to see Chris more confrontational, defending himself against Piper's and Leo's accusations. I've thought long and hard on that question, and decided that Chris simply wouldn't do that at this point, mainly because he is totally focussed on his mission. The way I see it, Chris would sacrifice everything and anything to save Wyatt, and further confrontation with Piper would simply be in the way of that. So it doesn't matter what he _wants_, he simply won't allow himself to fight back. Or at least that's my opinion. Tell me what you think, you scary-smart people!

And don't worry too much: I love breaking them, but piecing them back together is nearly as much fun. They won't come out of this worse than they came in…

…which, when I think about Chris' mental stability, isn't very reassuring. Sorry about that.

* * *

**Alone**

Three days after Piper had thrown Chris out of the house, Phoebe gathered the pitiful remains of her courage and descended the steps to the basement in search for Hand. The girl had barely interacted at all with them since she'd raised the wards, preferring to spend her time in the kitchen, brewing potion after potion, or on her own in the cellar.

She usually joined them during their little war councils, when they discussed the information gathered and progress made – if what they'd achieved these past days could be called progress. But she remained stubbornly silent, especially in Piper's and Leo's presence, and something in the way she _didn't_ comment on their discussions told Phoebe exactly what she thought of their efforts.

And of the fact that there was no sign of her sisters and Leo forgiving Chris.

Phoebe herself was conflicted about the how to go ahead, just as conflicted as she was about everything these days. She'd been unable to write a sensible word ever since the situation had escalated, and no matter how long she searched for a way to calm the atmosphere and re-establish contact with Chris, she came up with nothing.

The facts were damning, after all, and she didn't have enough information to even justify her own wish to make peace with their young Whitelighter.

To all appearances, Chris wasn't the man they had thought he was. To all appearances, he was an unscrupulous manipulator well on his way to becoming evil. And still, she couldn't get the expression of his face out of her mind, that short, agonizing moment before he had hidden all emotion and left them for good.

She couldn't forget that single tear, or the way he had looked at Piper.

That was why she needed to talk to Hand. Urgently.

But Hand wasn't making it easy for her.

She didn't look up from the knives she was carefully cleaning and sharpening, and answered Phoebe's request to sit with a sound that was only barely polite.

"So," Phoebe began uncomfortably after settling down on the small cot and watching Hand play with very sharp weapons for a few minutes. "How are you doing? I mean, you've been awfully busy these past days, and I wondered…"

Hand looked at her, disbelief open on her face. She seemed to be waiting for the punch line, but when Phoebe simply looked at her hopefully, she shook her head in disgust.

"How do you think I feel?" She asked sarcastically. Though it wasn't appropriate at all under the circumstances, Phoebe suddenly felt proud. When Hand had arrived in their time, she'd been a passive bundle of obedience. Now she could be sarcastic, downright rude, and even frightening. Not the ideal of social behaviour, perhaps, but it was a long way from being a slave girl.

Hand didn't notice the turn Phoebe's thoughts had taken, since she was still busy with the sarcasm.

"I'm the only line of defence against an Elder, whom we will probably never find now that you've thrown your only decent scout and spy out of the house, and instead of working on the problem, your sisters are busy discussing Chris' and my shady past in the future. It's fun!"

Okay, so perhaps she was getting a bit too good at sarcasm, Phoebe thought uneasily, but at least she was talking now. And, if Phoebe was honest with herself, she wasn't entirely wrong.

"I know," she answered quietly. "It's all a terrible mess. But I can't force Piper to forgive Chris, and to be honest, I don't know if I can do it myself."

Hand glared at her.

"What happened to all that trust you claimed you had in him?" She demanded. "You defended his actions not a week ago!"

"That was before I found out about the spell," Phoebe said quietly.

But Hand just huffed.

"It seems to me that the only person who has any right to complain about that is me," she countered. "And I'm not complaining. In fact, if you remember the _personal_ talk you eavesdropped on, I understand why he did it, and if you'd only give him a chance to explain, you probably would, too."

"Actually, that's what I came down for," Phoebe confessed. "I can't get this whole thing out of my head, and I just… I need to know how he could do such a thing! Why did he invent that spell?"

The girl hesitated.

"I don't know if he'd want me to tell you that," she said. "I'd need to explain a few things, and…"

"Oh, honestly, Hand," Phoebe interrupted. "The situation can't get much worse than it is now! You've changed so many things already, and if you really want to defeat Gideon, I can't see how we're to do that without working together! We _need_ to get Chris back into the team, and that will only happen if you trust me!"

But still the girl hesitated, caution and her own wishes warring inside her. Although she was the only one of their group who hadn't taken an empathy-blocking potion, her feelings were always muted to Phoebe, suppressed somehow, just clear enough to tell when she was lying or truly upset. She had been upset for days now.

"All right," she finally agreed. "But promise me that you will listen to the end and not storm off when you don't like what you hear."

Phoebe nodded encouragingly, and Hand took a deep breath, most likely ordering her thoughts and wondering where to start.

"When Lord Wyatt and Chris were kids," she began slowly. "They were friends. I mean, _really_ close friends, in a way like brothers."

Phoebe's thoughts immediately went into overdrive. So Chris had known Wyatt before he'd turned evil? Then he must have known the sisters, too! Perhaps they were acquainted with his parents, perhaps they knew them even now? But who…

"Stop that," Hand said sharply. "I can see what you're thinking and if you don't stop right now I won't tell you anything else."

"Okay, okay," Phoebe raised her hands in appeasement. "I won't think anything, I promise!"

Hand huffed again, her scepticism obvious, but she didn't comment and turned back to her story.

"Because of that, Chris was one of the first who noticed that something was wrong with Lord Wyatt, but nobody would believe him."

_Nobody meaning us,_ Phoebe translated in her head, making sure that she wouldn't look as if she was thinking. _No surprise there._

"So Chris turned to Lord Wyatt himself and tried to convince him that the things he said and did weren't right, but that didn't help. Then a lot of terrible things happened, things I can't tell you about, and at the end of all that, Lord Wyatt kind of… snapped. He started recruiting demons, building his own army, and before long he was dominating most of the magical community with his talk about there being no right and wrong, that only power counted and that they shouldn't be forced to hide when they, in truth, were the superior beings. In short, he proposed to take magic aboveground and 'put the mortals in their rightful place'."

Phoebe swallowed.

"That sounds terrible," she whispered, and Hand nodded.

"To you it does, probably. To me it is reality. But Chris thought the same way you did, and he decided that he had to do something about it. He tried to bind Lord Wyatt's powers, but the heir of Excalibur was far too powerful by then. He tried to convince Lord Wyatt that he was abusing his power, and from what I heard, Lord Wyatt was actually listening to him for a while, but he wouldn't stop."

"But why didn't he turn to us?" Phoebe asked. "No matter how powerful Wyatt was, the Power of Three should have been able to bind his powers, strip him of them, even!"

Hand sent her a long, unreadable look.

"At that point," she then said slowly. "There wasn't a Power of Three anymore."

Phoebe stared at her in shock.

"So we're… we're dead? In your time?" She asked weakly, but Hand shook her head.

"I can't tell you any more about it, Phoebe, you must understand that. Chris would probably have my head for what I said already."

Phoebe tried to deal with the realization that in Chris' and Hand's future, she wouldn't reach sixty, but another thought kept intruding, a memory of the last confrontation with Chris.

_Wyatt was going evil, and you were no help at all! _He had yelled at them in his pain and desperation._ What should I have done? I was fifteen, God damn it! There were no good options, no right ways! I couldn't lie back and be a victim, could I? I was the only one left, and so I did what I had to do!_

"Oh my God," she whispered. "Dear God. He was really all alone, with Wyatt so much more powerful! But where were his parents, his family?"

"Dead," Hand said without expression. "They were all dead by then."

Phoebe felt tears rising into her eyes. She thought she could picture the young Chris now, a handsome, all too earnest boy, probably an irritating but endearing know-it-all. Who had only had his best friend left. A friend who was turning evil, and nobody would believe him. _Dear God_.

"So Chris tried to think of a way to eliminate the danger and save Lord Wyatt at the same time. Even then, he believed in their friendship and that there was still good in Lord Wyatt."

The pieces of the puzzle clicked in Phoebe's mind.

"So he invented a spell that would let him control Wyatt's magic," she whispered.

Hand nodded.

"If he couldn't take the magic away from Lord Wyatt," she continued. "He'd at least make sure that Wyatt wouldn't use it for evil. He thought he had found the solution. From what Lord Wyatt told me, he actually thought that everything would be okay then, so he took the spell to Lord Wyatt and tried to convince him it was the only option."

"So that was why the spell needs the slave to agree to it?" Phoebe asked. "Because Chris expected Wyatt to do it willingly?"

Hand nodded.

Phoebe tried to imagine such trust in their Chris and failed utterly. The grown-up Chris always expected the worst from the people around him. He'd probably learned to do that the hard way.

Then her thoughts flew to the memory of Chris' back, criss-crossed with scars, and her hand flew to her mouth.

"Was that when Wyatt…" she began, and Hand seemed to be able to follow her thoughts perfectly this time.

"No," she said softly. "But not for lack of trying. Lord Wyatt laughed at him and his crazy idea in the beginning, but then he quickly began to realize how dangerous Chris was becoming. Because if a boy of fifteen was intelligent enough to develop such a spell, what would keep him from developing the same spell without the free-will-clause? And suddenly Lord Wyatt was worried."

That was probably an understatement, Phoebe thought. The most powerful witch on the planet, realizing all of a sudden that he could be stripped of that power by a clever little boy. Wyatt must have been frantic.

"He tried to imprison Chris, but Chris didn't get his nickname for nothing. He escaped, and that was when he finally realized that Lord Wyatt was beyond saving."

She shrugged.

"And then?" Phoebe found herself asking, even though she had promised Hand not to. But this was just too terrible, too riveting not to know more.

Hand shrugged again.

"He founded the Resistance. He fought against Lord Wyatt. He met Bianca. Nearly died a few times. Went to the past. Tried to get you to help. Bianca was killed by Lord Wyatt. You threw him out of the house and told him he wasn't useful anymore."

The truth of their actions, summarized in that dry, matter-of-fact tone, hit Phoebe like a fist in the stomach.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered. "I'm so, so sorry, Hand."

But there was no forgiveness in Hand's eyes.

"It's not me you should be apologizing to," she said, and then she drove her point home with cruelty worthy of an assassin. "You know the funniest thing? You three were his heroes. Bianca used to tell me that it was always 'Phoebe this…' and 'Piper that…'. He even named the Resistance Headquarters after your club, called them 'The three P's – purpose, protection, peace'. He said these three were the essence of what being a Halliwell meant. Well, you certainly showed him."

And Phoebe buried her head in her hands, not because she was ashamed of her tears, but because the weight of guilt on her shoulders was becoming too heavy to bear. The action must have startled Hand, for the sound of whetstone on blade ceased. The girl shifted uneasily.

"I'm sorry," she then said and her voice sounded much softer. "That was probably uncalled for. I forget…"

"…that we're not 'your' Charmed Ones," Phoebe continued for her, looking up and slowly drying her eyes. "Yes, I know. But you're right anyway. We should have learned by now. We should at least try to understand."

"You are," Hand offered, then quirked her lip. "Though you're not doing a very good job, to be honest."

Phoebe was surprised into a chuckle by that, but the situation turned her serious again soon enough.

"It's just… I can't stop thinking of him, out there, all alone," she confessed unhappily. "He's got no money, no place to stay at, not even food! How will he even survive?"

To her surprise, Hand laughed in answer to that, softly and very amused.

"Truly, I forget all the time that you don't really know Chris," she commented. "He's probably already found a new place to stay, much better than your couch. From what I know of the way he thinks, he's most likely found an upper-level demon, a loner, killed him and stolen his identity. I wouldn't be surprised if he owned a bay-view apartment by now, has faked himself a driver's license and hacked into a few bank accounts."

Phoebe gaped at her.

"How would he know…"

"Future knowledge." Hand smirked, then turned serious again. "Don't worry about that, Phoebe. Physically, he's just fine."

She hesitated, and her face grew dark.

"For now," she added.

"What do you mean, for now?" Phoebe asked.

"I mean that, should you not have worked around your sisters' stupidity by the time he's actually found Gideon, he might decide to take him on alone."

Phoebe hissed. That was actually a worse thought than the image of Chris alone and hungry, camping out in Golden Gate Park.

"But he wouldn't be so stupid!" She protested, more for her own sake than Hand's.

The girl shrugged.

"Strategically, it's the plan that would make the most sense," she said coolly. "A full frontal assault failed the last time, and though I'd be more qualified for that sort of thing, he'll likely want to keep me close to you, to ensure your safety and continue the mission. It's the plan with the lowest over-all risk for our group."

"But…does he even stand a chance against Gideon?"

"Only if he's very, very lucky," Hand said slowly. "He's unlikely to survive it, anyway, but that hasn't stopped Chris before. He would rather die than fail, didn't you notice?"

And with a sinking heart, Phoebe admitted to herself that Hand was right. If her sisters didn't get their act together quickly, it would not simply cause Chris a bit of extra stress and loneliness.

It might very well cost his life.

* * *

**A/N:** I'll try to update quickly, but the next chapter will give you an inside into Chris' mind, and he's not that easy to write right now. Review, please! Reviewing makes me happy, and being happy makes me work faster. It's a Pavlovian reflex, and I blame fanfiction!


	28. Silent Talks

**Silent Talks**

Days turned into a week, and Chris couldn't remember when he had last truly slept. It wasn't for lack of opportunity – although Chris hated to waste even a minute in the race against Gideon, he was experienced enough to take a few hours' rest each day, if only because he knew that he'd have to confront an Elder at the end of all this, and he'd need his strength, then.

But whenever he did lie down in his new and very comfortable bedroom, whenever he managed to relax enough to actually fall asleep, he saw his mother's face, not hateful, not even angry, but cold, uncaring, and he heard her voice.

_You're not one of us, Chris. You'll never be. We don't want you here._

And then they would come, the ever-growing line of people he had loved and lost, his large, happy family that could only ever gather in his mind and in the desecrated graveyard now. They would dance through his dreams, reproach in their eyes and screams on their lips, and their blood would paint his mindscape red until he sat upright in bed, heart beating in sync with his panting breath.

…who needed sleep, anyway?

There was no real difference between day and night in the underworld, after all, and demons didn't care if you looked perpetually tired. He didn't care anymore, either. Only for his mission, the huge task of finding Gideon in a global maze of caves and tunnels, inhabited by an uncountable mass of malevolent beings.

It was fun, really.

He was juggling several personae with corresponding clothing and glamours, changing his appearance every few hours to keep Gideon's servants from following him. Finding the Elder wasn't as impossible as it would have sounded to someone without his intimate knowledge of the underworld, but it was a lot of work.

Luckily, he had used a good part of his misspent childhood and youth to map that dimension and had expanded and corrected his cartography here in the past. A huge part of what made up the underworld was, in fact, under the control of powerful and large demon clans. Crossing these areas off his maps was easy – he just had to discover whether the clan leaders had allied themselves with Gideon, for there was no other reason why they should allow him to stay on their territory.

So far, he hadn't observed any new allegiances. It seemed that the Elder had gathered a group of loner demons and a few smaller clans without territory of their own under his command. That made sense, Chris guessed. Despite being out for murder, Gideon still considered himself to be good. He wouldn't tolerate a major evil player as a partner, and the more powerful demon leaders didn't like to serve _anyone_ – that role had grated even when the source of all evil had demanded it of them.

In the future, Wyatt had been forced to wipe out most of these clan leaders, so adamant had they been to remain independent. That they would give up this independence for an Elder was unimaginable.

All in all, his enquiries had eliminated about ninety percent of the underworld. That sounded like much, but the remaining territory was about as large as central Europe – impossible to search it for a single man and his small demon army.

_If only Elders weren't so damn good at warding_, Chris thought tiredly. There was no way of finding Gideon through scrying or other magic means. He had tried a few of his most effective spells early on and gotten nothing. So he'd decided to leave that area of research to the sisters and Leo, who knew practically nothing about the underworld but a lot about scrying, given that one or more of the sisters got lost every other week.

Chris snorted bitterly. _Let them sit in their cosy living room_, he thought. _With their coffee and their hot baths and their righteousness. I'm better off without them_.

He was. Really. Not having to argue over every single step, not having to waste time whenever the sisters decided they wanted 'a normal life' for a day, not having his every action questioned for a hidden agenda – all that should have made things easier for him. And it did.

But he hadn't expected how utterly alone he would be without it all.

Not that he hadn't been completely alone in all that mattered since the moment he first stepped through a time portal. The sisters didn't know him, they'd barely tolerated him at the best of times and heaped abuse on him at the worst. He'd never been able to really talk to them, not about his mission and definitely not about anything private. They knew nothing about his hopes and fears, his dreams and plans.

But they had been _there_.

Even though they'd not been his mother and aunts, their voices had filled empty places inside him he'd thought forever abandoned. Even though they didn't know him, their touches and smiles had given him back part of his family.

It had made it harder in a way. Even in the middle of this new misery he could remember the sheer terror of his first weeks in the past, when he'd still been unprepared to see his mother's face, alive and without the layer of blood coating it, the graceful figure of his Aunt Phoebe, not broken and twisted out of form, and hear the clear, commanding voice of Aunt Paige, not hoarse from perpetual screaming. He'd been terrified, both because he'd been afraid of letting something slip and because he'd been wholly unprepared for the feelings that would surface again after being repressed so long.

But despite the pain, being with his family had brought some kind of peace. He would bitch and they would bitch back, but at least they were _there_. That was more than he'd had for a number of years.

Now he'd lost it again. He was back in a world of fighting and surviving, where no one cared what he was doing and if he worked too much, where he could go for days without a friendly word or a touch that wasn't designed to hurt him. He was all alone.

Except for Sarah.

One glance at his watch told him it was nearly four o'clock, so Chris left the deserted and dusty corridors he'd been walking for the past hours and chose a small side cave, placing strong but temporary wards that would keep him safe for the moment.

Orbing wasn't possible in most parts of the underworld, at least not if you didn't want to alert the inhabitants of that area. So he usually orbed into border territories, where the coming and going wasn't well controlled, or into spots he himself had cleared of wards before. Then it was walking, and scouting, and, sometimes, talking. As irritating and slow progress as it seemed, it was the only way of keeping Gideon unaware of his presence. He didn't want to find the Elder only to have him on the run again.

Chris settled down quietly, the rucksack between his feet, ready to be grabbed, his back against the wall so he wouldn't be caught unaware. He placed a large athame to his left, a general vanquishing potion to his right, both ready to be grasped at a moment's notice, then allowed himself the luxury to relax.

He closed his eyes and let his head rest against the rough stone of the wall. His breathing slowed. His feet thrummed with the dull pain of having walked too long, too far. He became aware of the soft aches of old bruises and the exhaustion lurking in the back of his mind. It was a strangely peaceful feeling.

He checked his watch again, finding that four o'clock was less than a minute away. And, sure enough, he'd barely closed his eyes again when the disembodied voice of Sarah floated into his mind.

It wasn't like hearing, at least not in the traditional sense. He'd had many talks with other whitelighters and half-whitelighters about their strange abilities, magical and yet so different from magic, but the best way they'd come up with to describe their charges' call was a kind of _feeling_ the voice, as if it touched something under his skin, a kind of hearing with the soul. It was intimate, and soothing, and, when his mother had been pissed off and called for him in that special tone of hers, annoying as hell.

Right now, with Chris sitting in the perpetual twilight of the underworld, dust and debris around him, it felt strangely like solace.

_So this is me again_, Sarah began, then waited for half a minute to give him a chance to put her on mute. As good as he'd become over the years of juggling his extra-senses with his normal ones, multitasking like that wasn't the best idea in a combat situation.

But she'd never yet caught him in such a situation, and if that was because he made extra sure not to do anything dangerous around four o'clock, then that was something he chose not to dwell on.

Even he had a right to a few minutes of his time, after all.

_I'm alone in the house right now_, Sarah continued after a moment of silence. _In the kitchen, going through their research while they are out of the way_.

She didn't bother to hide her irritation with the sisters. Chris knew from experience that one could withhold information from this kind of mental contact, although it was a lot of work. But Sarah, so guarded in normal communication, had always seemed totally open and undisguised since their first mental touch. Perhaps she'd learned to call this way from Wyatt, but Chris chose to think that she simply didn't bother with hiding when it was just them.

_They haven't made much progress – no surprise there. Paige tried to scry for Gideon again this morning. It was the 35__th__ attempt – believe me, I've counted – and they're still not getting that he's too well hidden from them. Tell me again how they survived so long?_

Chris closed his eyes and felt a smile grow on his face. Was it a bad sign that sarcasm actually reminded him of home? Most leading members of the Resistance had been sarcastic to the core, and this kind of commentary was exactly what he'd expect of Bianca, or Kevin, or his seconds in command.

_They've gotten kind of restless since yesterday, but they still stick to their promise never to go out alone and leave Wyatt in the house whenever possible. Today Piper's decided to take him for a _walk…

Sarah's disbelief over this perceived foolishness was nearly tangible.

_But at least they all three went, with Leo as an extra guard. Piper's actually taken care not to leave Leo and me alone for too long – I think she's afraid I'll kill him when she turns her back. Have you eaten your sandwich yet?_

Chuckling over this abrupt change of topic, Chris reached for his rucksack and searched for the sandwich. A fresh supply of potions and provisions every day was another way Sarah had found to make his life easier. He was unbelievably glad that he didn't have to take the extra hours each day to brew vanquishing potions and shop for groceries, although he still didn't understand how the sisters couldn't notice that a good portion of Sarah's work simply vanished from sight. If he hadn't been vanquishing demons left right and centre this past week, the cellar would have overflown with potions. And yet none of the sisters had yet mentioned this discrepancy.

_Anyway_, Sarah continued. _Phoebe is still working on her sisters. Your aunt is a lot more stubborn than I expected, and I think Paige is starting to come round. But Piper refuses to even discuss the matter, and… well… Leo's an _idiot_. _

Chris chuckled again, but it sounded bitter even to his own ears this time. His appetite was suddenly gone, but he forced himself to bite and chew and swallow as if everything was alright. He hadn't expected anything else, after all. His mother wasn't known to change her mind once she'd made a decision, she was even worse than he was in that regard. They would just have to go on trying.

_Are you really sure you need me here?_ Sarah's voice sounded a bit forlorn. _I could probably be of much more help to you in the underworld than sitting here, brewing potions and listening to their imagined woes. Nothing against a peaceful world, Chris, but no one told me it could be so boring._

She only ever made the request to leave the sisters and work with him during their one-way conversations. Face to face, she was supportive and rather passive, watching him closely for injuries and noting down his potions requests. Just as he was formal and distant, thanking her for her help but refusing to answer her questions about his status. It was the only way he could cope. And if he would close his eyes during the time she talked to him from far away, and imagine he was back in the Manor, reunited with his family and Sarah, well there was no one there to call him on it, was there?

Sarah paused. She usually made sure not to talk for too long a time, as if she was afraid to overstep his boundaries, and he hadn't found a way yet to tell her how glad he was for these five minutes during his long days. He wasn't very good at talking about this kind of thing. Still he wished she would tell him a bit more.

_That's all for today, I guess_, she then said, just as he finished the last bite of the sandwich. _I hope I'll see you tomorrow at sunrise. Be careful, Chris_.

* * *

He spent the day scouting Tasra-territory, filled with a strange urgency and the feeling that he was finally on to something. The Tasra were a widespread clan group, consisting of several different demon types, not very closely knit. It would be easy for someone with Gideon's power to dominate a few Tasra families, perhaps even hire them for his own purposes, and the terrain was exactly what someone in Gideon's position would be looking for – complicated, not easy to survey and perfect for quickly building a stronghold.

The Tasra-dynamics made it relatively easy for Chris to fit in – most of his different demon personae would work with such a diverse clan – he could even have left off the glamour and tried his luck as a warlock.

But Tasra were also pretty dangerous. Among their main body of demon species there were no less than seven with lethal offensive powers, usually mercenaries, which meant well trained and not hesitating to go for the kill. And then there were the Craggis, sly, incredibly fast demons that had specialised in poisons more than a hundred years ago.

They had been one of the first species Wyatt had worked to bring under his control in his bid for power, and the move had certainly paid off. Craggis weren't as deadly as specially trained assassins like Sarah or Bianca, but they were the second best thing, and there were a lot of them. Chris felt no urge towards a confrontation with the Craggis, not even on a good day.

Unfortunately, the Craggis didn't feel the same way about him.

He made it to the centre of the large cave cluster without being noticed – there were barely any demons around, although a clan centre like this should have been populated densely. A good sign for his search, as were the unusual number of guards posted at the many entrances to the main cave.

The geographical structure of this area was similar to the last one Gideon had settled in – another good sign -, but it was also pretty much ideal for someone sneaking around. Chris disposed of three guards without the others noticing and hid their bodies in various crags and nooks. He took the fourth guard with him into a slightly larger cave and spent a good hour on building a new glamour that mimicked the corpse's body and facial structure. If Gideon's security system was half as good as Chris' would have been, no unfamiliar faces would be allowed from here on. A guard at this sentry point had to be trusted, so Chris hoped he would go unchallenged as the demon's doppelganger.

He was very nearly right.

The first glimpse of Gideon and his bodyguard after all these hours of searching was exhilarating to Chris. He had nearly lost faith in his own ability to track down the Elder, and only his desperation had kept him going a few times. But he'd been right, and now he could…

Well, do absolutely nothing, if he was honest. Not only had Gideon reinforced his personal wards since their last confrontation, his body guard now seemed to consist of more than thirty demons, and none of them looked easy to vanquish. He would never reach the Elder before being noticed, and his chances of reaching Gideon alive at all were beyond slim.

He would need back-up for this one.

Slowly, Chris began easing away from the cave's entrance. It wouldn't do to draw attention to himself now, but he needed to get this information to Sarah as quickly as possible. Together, they might develop a plan that would just work…

He noticed the Craggis following him less than a mile away from the main cave. They were shadowing him carefully, taking heed that he would not yet notice them. Perhaps they were hoping that he would lead them to his partners – no one in their right mind would attempt an infiltration of this kind _without_ partners, after all – but he was thankful for their hesitation. It gave him time.

He couldn't possibly hope to orb without notifying Gideon, not here, so close to his new centre of power. He also couldn't hope to win against five Craggis without being wounded.

So his only chance was to get as far away from Gideon as possible and lay a trap to make sure that they couldn't report him. More than anything else, however, he needed to prevent them from calling and waiting for reinforcements. Five Craggis were pretty much the upper limit of what he could hop to fight and survive, and if they were joined by more, this whole plan would be down the drain and he'd have to start from scratch again.

He would not let that happen.

So Chris waited until the Craggis had nearly rounded the latest corner of this winding tunnel. Then he threw a look back over his shoulder, as if only just noticing them, and broke into a run.

He could hear them hesitating behind him. Craggis had no telepathic or empathic abilities, and while they had perfected the art of killing, they were not techno-savvy like some other demon clans. They'd either have to leave one of them behind to find back-up, or they'd have to risk it. Chris added a slight limp to his run – not enough to be noticed consciously by anyone but the best tracker, but sufficient to let him appear a bit more vulnerable than he was.

A lone demon guard, running from something, probably wounded – not dangerous, not difficult to catch. The Craggis behind him began to run.

Chris kept ahead of them with ease. If the years in a wartorn San Francisco had taught him anything at all, it was how to run for hours without needing a break. But he made sure not to lose them – if he seemed too fast, they might lose interest in the hunt and simply report him to the nearest sentry point.

He kept them going till they had nearly reached the edges of the Tasra detection-wards. Then he put on more speed and easily left them behind – or so they were meant to think.

In truth, he was waiting for them around a corner.

The fight was over before it had really begun. Chris sent his triquetras out and like eager little birds of prey they took down his enemies too fast to be followed by untrained eyes. For a moment, he allowed himself a grin of satisfaction. No detection, no witnesses, and a clean kill. Gideon couldn't possibly learn about this episode.

Then, he became aware of a stinging pain in his neck.

He raised his hand and his fingers touched the feathered end of a dart.

They'd been as fast as he. And one of them had managed to poison him.

_Not now! Not when I'm so close!_ For a moment, panic filled his mind, making it impossible for him to think. He didn't know enough about poisons to heal this, and he lacked the means to brew an antidote in time. What the hell was he supposed to do now? How could he have let that happen?

_Prioritize_! He then ordered himself, and it was Bianca's voice that gave the command. He needed to get help. But first he needed to clean this part of the tunnel and hide the bodies from view. He also needed to mark Gideon's position and his forces on his maps, since he had no idea how fast this poison would work. He might not be lucid by the time he reached Sarah.

_Get to work! Levitate the bodies to the side cave. Hide the blood. Clean away the footprints._

By the time he had cleaned the site, his hands were shaking uncontrollably. It took him three tries to pin down Gideon's position, and four impossibly long minutes to add a note to Sarah.

_A good thing she added me to the wards_, he thought hazily as he watched the walls of the tunnel close in on him. _I wouldn't manage the walk to the front door_.

He only hoped he would manage the orbing without killing himself.

* * *

A/N: My apologies for the long wait, you guys, and thank you for all your reviews! The next updates should come rather quickly, but I'm insanely busy at the moment, so please have patience in things take longer than planned!

Please review!


	29. Poisoned Truths

**A/N:** I've done a lot of soul searching, and have come to a terrible conclusion. I'm evil.

…no, really, I am. You know the end of the second Pirate of the Caribbeans-film, where Barbossa comes down the stairs and is pure, epic awesome, and then the film _ends?_

I'm _that_ evil. Sorry.

…So, uhm, go and read the chapter now, will you? I'm so sorry.

* * *

**Poisoned Truths**

Chris looked worse every time Sarah met him. That in itself was not worrying – she had seen him in Wyatt's prisons and during more than one battle, and judging from that, he was not even close to his breaking point yet.

You could say a lot about Chris Halliwell, but not that he was soft, or weak, or prone to giving up. In her future, he'd been famous for going on when other men broke down, for fighting no matter what you threw at him. She had been very close to killing him more than once, and when their eyes had met over the corpses of his friends and comrades, his had held no fear. Only determination.

So she wasn't worried. No matter what the Charmed Ones did or didn't do, they wouldn't bring him to his knees.

No. She was furious. Because this was all so damned useless, so utterly wasteful. It damaged his mind and hindered their work and didn't bring them the slightest advantage. Piper was just as hysterical without Chris, and Leo wasn't a tick more sensible. The sisters were running in circles, trying the same things over and over again, and the only thing their resident Elder had to offer was optimistic drivel no one took seriously anymore, not even Leo himself.

And Sarah was stuck in the kitchen (there was a joke in there, somewhere), brewing potions that were only of use to Chris, whom she couldn't even give them in the open.

It was ridiculous. And it wasted their time, when their combined efforts could have finished the job days ago.

But there was no use telling that to Piper or Leo. Phoebe had given her everything, had, in fact, argued and argued and tried every trick in the book, but Piper wouldn't budge. Chris was willing to kill her son, and that seemed enough for her to damn him to all eternity. No matter his reasons.

But Piper wasn't big on reasoning, anyway.

So all Sarah could do was join forces with Phoebe, brew every potion known to witchkind, and plan a thousand ways to kill Gideon in her mind. She had already formulated plan number 437 (yes, she was counting).

She had just started on another power-stripping potion – said plan number 437 – when a tumult in the living room had her up and running.

"I am sick of this! How did you get in here?" Piper yelled, and Sarah had barely reached the door when she saw the oldest Halliwell raise her hands in attack.

"Piper, no!" Phoebe yelled, stepping in her sister's line of fire, but all of Sarah's attention was on the other side of the room, where a stumbling figure had materialized from blue orbs.

Chris. He had his back to them, and something was badly wrong, every line of his body screamed injury to her.

Sarah was across the room in a heartbeat, but she still barely managed to catch him before he fell. He collapsed in her arms and she went down with him, cradling his head to her chest to protect it, immediately beginning her check for injuries.

"Don't you see that he's hurt?" Phoebe was shouting in the background, but all that didn't matter right now, only the fallen body of her friend and general counted.

He was wearing tattered clothes and a dusty brown coat, his face dirty and his hands coated with a reddish substance – undercover work, then, probably gone wrong. Her searching hands found no injuries, no broken bones, no bumps on his head that could betray a concussion.

"Chris," she whispered frantically, both with her mind and her mouth. "Chris, you need to wake up. You need to tell me what's wrong!"

"What's wrong? He's in our house, that is what's wrong! How did he get through the wards, anyway? You told us we were safe!" Piper had come closer and was now standing directly above them, seething with anger.

Phoebe by her side was trying to calm her sister down, but Sarah had no time for this foolishness now, and when she looked up, she let Hand show in her face and eyes, let Piper see exactly why hundreds of witches would fear her in the future.

"Silence, woman!" She snarled, lips drawn back over teeth and eyes bleeding black. "If you don't let me help him I'll strip you of your powers and burn you to dust! Now call Leo and stay out of the way!"

Piper took a hasty step away from her, white with shock, but Sarah's attention had already returned to Chris.

"Wake up," she called him again and this time he moaned, his lids opening, his eyes rolling up in his head.

"Sarah?" He whispered and she touched his forehead in silent confirmation.

"What's your status?" She asked. "Quickly, Chris!"

He moved his head, slowly and painfully, and when he took in his surroundings and the sisters, standing a few feet away, he tried to sit up, only to fall back against her with a moan.

"I didn't know… where else…"

Still minding the sisters' business. Still trying to apologize. Well, she really couldn't be bothered with that right now.

"Concentrate!" She snapped. "The mission's not over, and we're relying on you!"

Something in his eyes cleared. He might have orbed here out of instinct, because the Manor was the only place of comfort he had in this time, but he was still Fox, a fighter, and would be until his last breath. Sarah desperately wanted to speak to him as a friend, the way she had done over the past days, but it was the general she needed now, the man that was stubborn and hard enough to get through this alive.

And the way he looked at her told her that he understood. And approved.

"Poisoned dart," he whispered slowly. "Craggis demon. I don't know…"

Sarah's heart sank. Craggis demons were clever and experts with poisons. There was no guarantee she'd even know the poison, but she _had _worked with Craggis demons a few times, so perhaps…

His face twisted, and he couldn't suppress a pained whimper. Sarah's estimate of his status climbed another step from 'in grave danger' to 'mortally wounded'. Chris never showed any weakness unless he couldn't stop himself.

"It's alright," she whispered. "I understand."

She looked up and around, searching for Leo, but only saw the sisters. Phoebe's eyes were wide with worry, and Paige was wringing her hands the way she always did when things were going seriously wrong. Piper had crossed her arms in front of her chest, but there was worry in the expression, too. At least she wouldn't interfere again, for the moment.

"Where's the wound?" Sarah asked, and obediently Chris' hand rose to his neck, where his hair clung to his skin, slick with sweat.

She reached for it, but found her hand suddenly arrested in his grip and his eyes on her, wide open and burning with fever.

"Listen, Sarah," he whispered urgently. "I've found him. He's hiding on Tasra territory. There's a map in my pocket… He's got at least fifty demons as a bodyguard, but they didn't see me…"

Another hand reached into Sarah's line of sight, and her knife was out and moving towards the new threat before she even recognized Leo.

"It's okay," he said hastily, but surprisingly calm considering the near-attack. "I'm just going to heal him, Hand."

She was doubtful of the outcome – Lord Wyatt hadn't recruited the Craggis families for nothing -, but she allowed him to touch Chris' chest and waited. The golden glow of healing took its time coming, and Sarah used the interval to reach into Chris' pocket for the map, scan it quickly and then tuck it away into her own pocket. Piper looked as if she wanted to protest, but one glance quietened her.

Leo's hand rested on Chris' chest for an inordinate amount of time while the healing travelled through his body, but his condition didn't seem to change.

Leo frowned.

"I've healed a hundred bruises and scratches," he said slowly. "But the poison's still there. Did he say what it was?"

"He doesn't know," Sarah answered sharply. He couldn't help Chris, and so she wouldn't waste any more time on him.

Instead, she reached for the still-open wound at his neck and coated her index finger in Chris' blood, before raising it to her mouth and carefully tasting it.

Paige made a strangled sound of disgust, but Sarah was too busy categorizing the properties of the poison to care. Neither did she listen when the sisters started discussing something in the background, voices raised as usual and on the edge of hysteria.

This wasn't good. This wasn't good at all.

She touched the wound again, ignoring Leo's admonishment about keeping it clean – Chris wouldn't be alive long enough to let infection settle in -, and whispered a very complicated detection spell one Craggis had taught her after several days of torture. The Craggis were careful with their secrets, but she was _very_ good with a knife.

"I know the poison," she then announced loudly, interrupting the sisters' useless babble. "And I can brew the antidote. But we must hurry. He hasn't got much time."

Piper opened her mouth – and, really, Sarah would rip out her guts if she didn't just shut up, but Phoebe was quicker.

"I'll help you," she said quickly, looking nearly as worried as Sarah felt. "Come on."

Carefully, Sarah slung her arms under Chris' knees and lifted him up, carrying him over to the sofa with ease. He was far too thin and she'd had no other occupation this past week than building up strength.

She placed him on the cushions, sent the other sisters a warning glare to keep away from him, then rested her hand on his chest for a moment.

"I'll deal with this," she whispered. "Don't worry."

Sarah had never brewed so quickly before. The quiet efficiency of the work usually calmed her, but nothing would calm her right now except obliterating Gideon, every single Craggis demon in the world and Piper and Leo for good measure.

She wasn't sure how to do this. The potion wasn't the difficult thing, but then she hadn't told the Charmed Ones everything.

The dirty little bastards hadn't just poisoned Chris. They had, probably following Gideon's command to get rid of the whitelighter for good, chosen a method that would ensure Chris' death whether they recognised the poison or not. Because this poisoning couldn't be healed with just an antidote. It also needed the blood of several close relatives to work, and as far as Gideon knew, Chris was all alone in the past, without any family to turn to.

She felt sick when she thought about it. If this had gone Gideon's way, Chris would have reached them with an untreatable wound and succumbed to it only hours later. They wouldn't have known what had happened, since lucidity went out of the window as quickly as fever settled in. They would have had to watch him die.

Really, if this was Elder logic, Sarah was beginning to understand Lord Wyatt's position towards them. Inflicting this kind of helplessness on the Charmed Ones added psychological torture to the terrible loss.

But Sarah wasn't a Charmed One. She knew things these so-called good witches wouldn't even dream of, and she had no scruples using them if it kept Chris save. She just needed to find a way to get the sisters' blood without betraying Chris' secret, and everything would be alright.

If only she had enough time for it. From what she knew about this poison, it would work quickly, coursing through his body and causing a general system failure. Chris was in a lot of pain right now, burning up from inside, and it would only get worse.

"Mandrake root," she barked, not even looking up from the potion, but Phoebe was there, handing her the jar only a few seconds later. She didn't spare her a glance, all her attention fixed on the boiling liquid in front of her, but knew that the woman understood. Perhaps there was at least one Charmed One that wasn't so bad.

"Boy, I'm really glad you forced us to stock up on all those potions supplies," Phoebe whispered, but the tone of her voice made clear that she didn't expect an answer. Phoebe _trusted_ her, Sarah realized absently, with Chris' life and probably with a lot more. It was a strange feeling, and normally she would have dwelled on it.

"Hawthorn blossoms, powdered!"

But now there were more important things. She needed to get this right. Failing simply wasn't an option. If only the sisters would cooperate, this once. If only they wouldn't ask too many questions…

* * *

Paige was pacing up and down the living room, her eyes meeting her sister's, then darting towards Chris, then resting on Leo and back again. She wasn't sure what to think about all this, hell, to be honest, she wasn't even completely sure what was going on.

All she knew was that Chris looked worse by the minute, his face a sickly grey, slick with sweat and burning from fever. He was slipping in and out of consciousness, but even when his eyes were open, he didn't recognize them.

His hands were twitching wildly, and one or two times he raised his arm, grasping for something only he could see. About ten minutes after Hand had vanished into the kitchen, Phoebe trailing after her with a panicky expression on her face, Chris started talking. His voice was barely audible, scratchy and completely unlike his normal smooth tenor, and Paige had to step close to hear him.

"I'm sorry," he was whispering through pale lips. "I'm so, so sorry…"

Slowly, Paige reached out and touched his forehead, only to wince in surprise. He was burning up.

"I really hope Hand was right about the antidote," Paige murmured. "He's very sick, guys."

Piper to her left shifted uneasily and opened her mouth to say something, but then she took another good look at the shivering man on her sofa and closed it again. Instead, she simply nodded.

"If I understood them right, he's found Gideon," Leo said after a moment. It sounded apologetic to Paige, but right now she didn't have the nerve to go into it. If this was what got Piper and Leo to realize that they'd been too harsh, at least one good thing would come out of the situation. Provided that Chris survived the day.

Now it was Paige's turn to shift uneasily.

"I'll go and see how they're…" she began, but was interrupted by Phoebe and Hand herself, rushing back into the room. Hand was holding a steaming cup in both hands.

"Here," she said with obvious relief. "It's ready. The only thing it needs is a bit of blood from you three, to bless it with additional strength."

Phoebe was reaching for the cup immediately. She hadn't bothered to hide her relief over Chris' return and her worry about his state, and her relationship with Hand was obviously closer than Paige had realized.

But Leo stepped in before she could cut her finger and add her blood.

"You're using quite a lot of blood in your spells, Hand," he said warily, the same way he'd reacted when Hand had demanded their blood for the warding, and Paige saw aggression and anger dart across Hand's face.

"We haven't got time for this, Leo," she said harshly. "The poison works its way through his system fast. If he doesn't get this quickly enough…"

"It's still a blood spell, and that needs extra-care," Leo repeated, and this time it was Phoebe who disagreed with him.

"Chris looks really bad, Leo," she said with a worried look in the witchlighter's direction. "What could possibly be so dangerous…"

"This could all be a trick, for example," Leo countered, his eyes not leaving Hand for a moment. "Planned by Hand and Chris to get their hands on some of your blood. He could use it to strip you of your powers, or to give his enemies power over you."

"Hand wouldn't do that," Phoebe argued, sounding angry herself now.

"You also trusted her to build secure wards. And look who orbed in here without the least bit of trouble. So I'd like to see the potion, if you don't mind, Hand."

He stretched out his hand, and after a moment of hesitation, Hand offered him the cup. Her anger was written openly on her face, but there was also urgency there, and a growing fear. Paige very much doubted that this was an act. But then she'd never have believed that Chris would risk Wyatt's life, either.

Carefully, Leo raised the cup to his nose and sniffed the liquid.

"This is an inheritance potion," he then said, disbelievingly. "What use could this possibly be to Chris?"

Paige knew that inheritance potions worked only when a direct bloodline was involved. While they had used blood in the past to strengthen spells or bless rituals, an inheritance potion used the blood to link its properties directly to the members of one family. It was extremely useful for Halliwell spells or for protecting a relative. But whitelighters weren't magically part of a family, and so this potion would be of no use at all. Leo's question was valid.

"We are dealing with Craggis demons here," Hand looked completely honest as she answered Leo's question, meeting their eyes one by one, not blinking, hands and gestures steady. But Paige would have expected nothing else from her.

_We're all good actors in the future_, Chris' voice whispered in her memory.

"They are extremely clever and very, very twisted. To counteract the specific properties of this poison, it is necessary to imbibe the antidotes with the characteristics of a strong line of good witches. Your family is ideal for this."

"That's good enough for me," Phoebe announced, again reaching for the mug in Leo's hands, but he just moved it out of her reach.

"It doesn't make sense," he disagreed. "What poison are we talking about exactly, Hand?"

Her anger was becoming more pronounced now. Before Leo could react, she had reached out and snatched the potion out of his hands, cradling it against her chest as if it was something precious.

"Don't try to tell me that you know enough about poisons to understand a more detailed explanation, Leo," she snarled. "This isn't about the potion. It's about your lack of trust, but even you can't deny that Chris is seriously ill and needs help, now!"

Leo's eyes narrowed. "You called him Fox before. He called you Sarah just now. What has changed? Have you two been communicating in the last week?"

"She must have," Piper said calmly. "She keyed him into our wards after all, and unless she had some of his blood ready for that, she must have met him after we put the wards up. Tell us the truth, Hand!"

"Do you really think this is the time for that discussion?" Paige asked nervously. She agreed that all this was a bit shifty, but she'd also kept an eye on Chris, and he was deteriorating fast. His breath was shallow now and his mouth wide open, as if he had to fight for every single lungful of air. No matter what he'd done or not done, she didn't want him to die. "Can't we just give him that potion and discuss things afterwards?"

"That's a risk we can't take," Leo disagreed, and Paige saw Piper nod slowly. "Gideon is after Wyatt, looking for every opening to get to him. What if this brings down the wards? What if this takes your magic away? Gideon could go for Wyatt in front of us, and there'd be nothing you could do!"

"Hand wouldn't do that kind of thing!" Phoebe said again, her voice stronger now, her eyes determined. "I vouch for her. I vouch for Chris. I will not allow you to let him die right before our eyes, just because you can't stand him, Leo! This is not us! We don't sacrifice people just because it's safer! I'll give my blood for this potion, no matter what you guys will do!"

"You can't do that, Phoebe." There was no room for discussion in Leo's voice. "You'd put this whole family at risk."

Phoebe faltered, her eyes darting from Piper's calm determination to Hand's growing panic. She looked as unsure as Paige felt.

"If there's anything you can tell them to explain this, Hand, please do," she said quietly, and Hand looked ready to snarl again when a gasping sound from the sofa had her moving and by Chris' side in an instant. She touched his forehead and gasped.

"Look," She yelled, voice high and tense with fear. "He's dying in front of you and this potion will help him. Trust me, please!"

"But we can't trust you, Hand, not where he is involved," Piper sounded truly sorry for the girl. "You swore an oath to him, but not to us. How can we know that he didn't order you to do this? You wouldn't have a choice, would you?"

"I promise you that isn't the case. I _swear_ that this is only meant to save him and that it won't harm you. He's dying! We do not have time for this!"

"Then explain yourself!" Leo countered. "The sisters won't give their blood without good reason, and you haven't given us one. He would have to be a close relative for this to work, Hand! You can't fool us!"

Hand's mien was downright panicky as she looked from Chris to them and back. There seemed to be a struggle waging in her mind and on her face – highly unusual for the normally so controlled girl. Paige was so busy watching her indecision that her words, when they came, took a while to register.

"He's your son," she said softly. "Piper's and Leo's second son."

* * *

A/N: I know you're all hating me right now, but please review anyway. I'm working on the next chapter as you're reviewing, and it won't take long at all, I promise! …please don't kill me.


	30. Broken Things

A/N: If you kill me, I can't write anymore. Just thought I'd offer this very valid argument before the next cliffhanger. Did I mention I'm evil?

* * *

_"Then explain yourself!" Leo countered. "The sisters won't give their blood without good reason, and you haven't given us one. He would have to be a close relative for this to work, Hand! You can't fool us!"_

_Hand's mien was downright panicky as she looked from Chris to them and back. There seemed to be a struggle waging in her mind and on her face – highly unusual for the normally so controlled girl. Paige was so busy watching her indecision that her words, when they came, took a while to register._

_"He's your son," she said softly. "Piper's and Leo's second son."_

_xXx  
_

**Broken Things**

For one moment, the silence was absolute.

Then Piper snorted with laughter, her breath hiccupy with amusement.

"Pull the other one," she laughed. "This is ridiculous!"

But Hand's face told another story.

"She's serious," Paige whispered, feeling her own panic like a cold spike in her belly. "She's completely serious, Piper."

The laughter died on Piper's face.

"But you can't be," she said to Hand. "This is nonsense! There's no way in the world… This must be a cover story you two cooked up! And a pretty bad one at that – who could possibly believe…"

"HE IS DYING!" Hand shouted, desperation overwhelming her. "SO GET OVER YOURSELVES AND HELP HIM! NOW!"

In that moment, Paige made a decision. Whatever the reason for this lie, Hand's panic was genuine. So Paige would help and ask for explanations later. She saw the same decision form on Phoebe's face, but Leo and Piper looked doubtful. Paige understood – the two couldn't agree to this now, not without admitting that Chris might theoretically, possibly be their son.

Hand saw it too, but instead of arguing on, she sent a last, lingering glance towards Chris.

"I'm sorry," she then whispered. "But this is the only way."

And her arm snapped out in a gesture well known to anyone who'd ever seen Chris fight.

The sisters and Leo were flung through the air and connected painfully with the living room wall where they remained, pinned against the wallpaper like flies. Paige turned her head left and right to check on the others and found all of them unharmed, but as unable to move as she was.

She stretched her hands and arms, trying to work around the telekinetic grip, but before she could move anything, Hand was standing in front of them, a small knife and the cup with the potion in one hand.

"Just so you know," she said calmly, and there wasn't a hint of the harmless girl left in her eyes. "I took your powers. All of them. I'll give them back once I'm finished here, but I can't risk you delaying things any further."

"You can't do this, Hand!" Leo sounded winded from his rather hard connection with the wall, but that didn't keep him from arguing. Strangely enough, there was genuine worry in his voice, not towards the sisters, but towards Hand, their attacker. "You pledged your life to Chris, and he gave you a clear order not to harm us and not to strip any powers! Breaking this oath will kill you – it's only a matter of time!"

Her eyes were dark as she looked at him. Paige recognized the expression – it was the same way she had looked in the beginning, when she'd still been under the slave spell and expected to die very soon. There was no regret in her eyes, no hesitation.

"It wouldn't be the first oath I broke by pain of death," she answered coldly. "Now hold still, or I might just explode you by accident."

She raised her hand again, this time in the attack gesture Piper had perfected over the years, and froze the sisters. No, not completely, Paige realized, they were only frozen up to their necks. But it had taken Piper years to master that special trick!

Without wasting a second, Hand stepped up to Piper and cut her finger, letting her blood drip into the cup. She did the same with Paige, who tried her best to fight against Piper's magic, but was as helpless as the rest of them. This was terrible! She tried to orb, only to realize that all her powers were gone, and here she was in the same room as an assassin, a girl that would kill without hesitation when ordered!

When Hand reached Phoebe and took her finger for the last cut, Phoebe gave her a short, sad smile. Paige wanted to shout at her sister that this was not the right time for empathy, but her lips didn't move.

"I understand," Phoebe said. She hadn't struggled against the magical grip at all, Paige now realized. "I would have given my blood willingly. Now hurry!"

Hand nodded in acknowledgment, then cut and added Phoebe's blood to the potion, which turned bright red and began to glow. Whispering spells and incantations, she hurried over to the prone figure of Chris and tilted the cup so that the liquid could enter his mouth.

Carefully, she massaged his throat to make him swallow, and though he moaned in unconscious protest, she didn't let go until he had drunk the last drop of the potion.

"Will you at least tell us _why_ you're doing this?" Paige asked, hoping that she didn't sound as helpless as she felt. "What use can an inheritance potion be to him?"

Hand didn't even look at them. All her concentration was on Chris. Her hands were constantly in motion, checking his forehead, testing his pulse, prying open an eyelid to check his pupils. But his eyes were fixed on his face, and her breathing was slow, in sync with his laboured, gasping breaths.

Paige wasn't used to being ignored so thoroughly. It pissed her off a bit, but it also frightened her. They were the power of three, the strongest force of the light, and Hand was confident enough in her abilities to turn her back on them.

It certainly threw a different light on Chris' reaction to her, back in the beginning, before they had struck their alliance. He'd feared her more than he'd hated her, and Paige could see why, now. She had taken their powers and rendered them helpless, just because she considered it necessary. There had been no hesitation, no remorse, even though she'd lived with them for weeks, even though the Charmed Ones had saved her life.

This girl was willing to do _anything_ if it helped her fulfil her mission, and right now her only mission was to support Chris. Paige wasn't sure if Wyatt had made her this way or if she'd always been that ruthless, but she really understood why he'd chosen her to be his Hand. She made a great fist when she wanted to.

For fifteen minutes Hand sat at Chris' side, ignoring them completely. They were the longest fifteen minutes of Paige's life. She fought against Piper's magic with everything she had – but it was no use at all.

But the result remained the same. Then, something changed in Hand's concentration. Her shoulders sagged with relief, and she stood from Chris' side and walked over to them.

"He'll survive," she said quietly, concentrating on Phoebe, as if she was the only one worth her time in the room, and smiling softly. "But he'll take a while to recover, and he'll be weak in the beginning."

Phoebe nodded. "I'm glad," she said quietly.

Then, Hand turned towards Paige. There was not a hint of a smile on her face when she met her eyes.

"To answer your question," she said coldly. "The potion was needed _because_ it is an inheritance potion. I didn't lie. Chris really is Piper's and Leo's son. Your nephew."

Phoebe made a gasping sound.

"You said they were like brothers…" she whispered, making no sense at all to Paige.

"Yes," Hand agreed. "Wyatt and Chris _are_ brothers. That is why Wyatt didn't simply kill him, and that is why Chris has been risking everything to save him, instead of just killing him now, as long as he's young and defenceless."

She hesitated.

"He never wanted you to know. He made me swear not to tell you. It is the only thing I regret about what I did today. Don't blame this on him."

Her face twisted in sudden pain. She raised one hand to her chest, pressing it against her ribs hard.

"I have to go," she whispered.

"Are you alright?" Phoebe asked, ridiculously concerned considering that Hand was pinning them all against a wall right now. "Will breaking the oath really hurt you? Is there something I can do?"

Again Hand smiled. "Take care of him. He'll be unconscious for some time, and then he'll have to take it slow. Don't let him overexert himself, will you?"

"Is he really…" Phoebe hesitated, and her voice sounded broken when she continued the sentence. "Is he really my nephew?"

Hand's smile broadened. "Your favourite one, if Lord Wyatt didn't lie to me."

Again her face twisted and Paige could feel the power of her magic weaken.

"I'll return your powers to you," she said quickly. "Don't try to wake him just yet."

And with one last glance at Chris, Hand shimmered out, just as Paige slid down the wall to fall to her knees.

* * *

Piper wanted desperately to be angry. She really, really wanted to be furious – with Hand, because she'd lied to them and stolen their powers and pinned them to the wall, with Phoebe, because she'd bought into Hand's story and even _supported _her, and most of all with Chris, because he'd once again orbed in and turned her world upside down.

But somehow, she couldn't. All her famous temper was gone, out of her reach. All her anger had bled out of her.

Numbly she saw Hand shimmer out of the Manor. Numbly she collapsed to her knees like the others. Numbly she watched as Phoebe got to her feet first and rushed over to the sofa.

She didn't follow Leo and Paige, who both walked over to Chris at a slower pace but with the same dumbfounded expressions on their faces. She wanted to say something, to explode, to scream.

But it was Phoebe who spoke first.

"He has your cheekbones, Piper," she whispered.

The shock of that statement was like a physical thing, slamming into her and knocking her breath away. She felt they flood of its consequences rise within her, drowning her, leaving no space for any other thought… and she suppressed it ruthlessly.

"No," she said, not recognizing her own voice. "No. Don't be ridiculous, Phoebe. It's not true."

Phoebe sank down to her knees, eyes fixed on their whitelighter's face as if it could answer her questions.

"Piper…" she began, but Piper wasn't willing to listen to this.

"Don't Piper me," she snapped, knowing that she was unfair but refusing to listen to reason. "This is a way to get our guard down, nothing else. If it _were_ true, why didn't he tell us before? There are a hundred good reasons why he should have, but he never mentioned it. He said his parents were dead, he said that he'd never had a family. This is just a trick, Phoebe, and I won't fall for it just because Hand is a good liar! It's not true!"

She didn't say that she couldn't _afford_ it to be true, that the consequences of it would be unthinkable, that this would destroy her life on a whole new level.

Because it wasn't true. She didn't _have_ to think about the consequences of a lie.

Phoebe looked unconvinced, but she knew her well enough not to push, and Piper turned her back on the thought with relief.

"Let's think this through," she said. "Why could they have planned this? What use would an inheritance potion with our blood in it be to them?"

"They could use your blood to gain control over you, or strip you off your powers," Leo said, and she could have kissed him for accepting her lead. He looked just as shaken as she was, but also just as sceptical.

"But he drank it," Paige argued. "Why would she make him drink it if she wanted to use the blood? It's in his system now – they can't use it for magical purposes."

"Maybe he drank something else first?" Leo offered, sounding a bit helpless. "Maybe it is to give _him_ power over us? Or to give him your powers?"

Paige stretched out her hand and orbed a vase to her.

"If that was the goal, it's not working," she said calmly, but her eyes were resting on Chris' face now, as if she too was searching for signs of his kinship. "I've still got my powers."

"Me too," Phoebe agreed. "And would he really risk poisoning himself for something like this? It could have gone wrong, and then he'd have been completely helpless. That doesn't make sense, Piper!"

"They could have done it to mess with our heads," Piper said, ignoring her sisters as well she could. "Remember what he told us about Hand's tactics? This sounds like one of her plans."

"But she broke her oath, Piper," Paige argued. "This could kill her, too, and he's lying on our sofa unconscious, in no shape to do anything to us! This is messing with their health more than with our heads – why would they…"

"I DON'T KNOW, alright?" Piper shouted. "All I know is that her explanation doesn't make sense. He can't be my son. So let's stop going down that road right now!"

_I threw him out of the house. Twice. I told him that he didn't belong to us. That he was useless. I used my powers against him. More than once. Leo hit him. We threatened him. _

_Wyatt tortured him. God, Wyatt imprisoned him and tortured him and tried to kill him. Wyatt killed the love of his life. God._

_He can't be my son._

_What kind of mother would I be?_

_He can't be my son._

Slowly, Phoebe reached out and touched Chris' forehead, brushed a few locks of sweaty hair back from his skin. Her touch was tender, careful, as if their whitelighter had become infinitely precious to her.

"He's getting better," she said, her voice vibrating with tension. "The potion works."

_But it shouldn't_, Piper thought with growing fear. _It couldn't, unless…_

_He can't be my son. I can't have raised a boy that would torture his own brother._

"I would have known," she said hoarsely. "I would have recognized him. We would have recognized him, Leo, wouldn't we?"

Leo's face was ashen, nothing of his usual Elder-calm remaining. He opened his mouth to say something, but words failed him. He shrugged. It was the most helpless gesture Piper had ever seen.

"He's moving," Paige whispered. "I think he's waking up!"

Chris sluggishly began to move. He groaned through bitten lips, his hands twitching slightly as he fought his way back to consciousness. He opened his eyes to the sight of Phoebe, kneeling by his side, and for one moment his face was unguarded, open, very young.

Then memory set in and Piper could see walls slam down between his mind and his surroundings.

"What…" he whispered, and tried to sit up.

"Take it slowly, Chris," Phoebe said, pressing him back into the cushions. "You're safe here."

His hands reached for the side of his neck, finding the wound still there. He tried to move, grimaced, and fell back on the sofa.

"Why am I still alive?" he asked calmly, as if it was a question he asked every other day.

_He can't be my son. How could he be so lonely, so guarded, so unloved, when he's my son? I would have guarded him! I would have loved him!_

"It was pretty close for a while," Paige said. She, too, was watching Chris as if he was a newfound treasure. "Hand identified the poison and managed to brew the antidote in time. But if you hadn't orbed here directly, you might not have made it."

"Ah, yes, that," Chris said a bit sheepishly. He sat up despite Phoebe's protests. His eyes were darting from one of them to the next, though he was markedly avoiding Piper. And a good thing it was. She wasn't sure how she would react to meeting his eyes. "I'm sorry about that. I know Sarah shouldn't have added me to the wards, but I thought it would be wiser, in case of emergencies…"

"Don't worry about that now," Phoebe said softly. "Your safety is more important."

Chris gaped in open surprise at that.

_No. No son of mine would react like that. My son would have been cherished, he would have expected nothing else from us. He can't be my son!_

"Is everything alright?" He asked, noticing now how closely Phoebe and Paige crowded him, how Piper and Leo stood in the background, staring at him silently. "Listen, I said I'm sorry, but…"

"Chris, there's something you need to know," Phoebe interrupted him quickly. "Hand… she's…"

She sent a helpless glance towards her sisters. _Tell him_, her eyes demanded of Piper. _Make him stop apologizing! Tell him!_

But this wasn't Piper's business. She would not look into his eyes and see the walls slam down. She would not open her heart to him. Because he WASN'T HER SON!

"What?" Chris asked. "And where is she, anyway?" He looked tired, and more than a bit off-balance. His arms were slung around his torso protectively, and he was rubbing his sides as if he was still in pain.

Phoebe hesitated. Then opted for the easier part of the conversation.

"Things went… wrong_," _she said, ignoring the elephant in the room for now. "To heal you, Hand… Sarah… broke her oath. She took away our powers and attacked us, because we wouldn't…" she paused, and something broke in her voice.

"Because we wouldn't help," she whispered. "She gave you the potion and shimmered out, but it looked as if she was in pain."

"Damn it!" Chris brushed back his hair with trembling hands. "That could kill her! I need to go find her immediately."

He jumped up, stumbled, and would nearly have fallen again if Phoebe hadn't held onto him.

"Damn," he muttered again. "Listen, can I come back here later? As I said, I've found Gideon, and we really should talk about this, even if you don't like me being around."

He looked up to gauge their reactions. His eyes were narrowed and his posture defensive.

_Rejected for such a long time. By us. Not my son, dear God, I didn't do this to my son!_

"Is something wrong?" He asked. "Do I have something on my face, or why are you staring at me like that?"

But they were all frozen, overwhelmed by the moment. They couldn't just let this lie (even though she'd die for a chance to just sit down and think about this, for a respite of just a few hours). Hand would tell him what she'd said, and he would either vanish because they'd been found out, or, if she'd been telling the truth, he'd feel even more rejected.

_No. Not that last one. It isn't the truth. Perhaps we should just say nothing. Then all this would go away._

But her sisters weren't that cowardly, and Piper could see how much all this hurt them. She watched Paige's face twist in some unnameable pain, watched tears well up in Phoebe's eyes, and couldn't bring herself to just send him away. Instead she stood there, doing nothing, staring helplessly at him and not allowing herself to think.

_It's not the truth._

"Chris," Phoebe finally said. She was searching for words, speaking haltingly, as if these few short sentences were a great effort. "In order to heal you, Hand used an inheritance potion… She used all our blood for it. And she told us…"

Chris' head had snapped to her face when she'd named the potion. Now his eyes went impossibly wide, staring at her as if this was the most terrifying thing that had ever happened to him. His eyes darted across the room as if searching for an exit, a hiding place.

_My son wouldn't feel the need to hide from me! It can't be the truth, dear God, please!_

A great, terribly tension took hold of his body, but he didn't even seem to notice that he was shivering violently. He half raised a hand towards Phoebe, as if trying to stop her, but no words escaped him. No sound. Just that silent, terrible stare of fear.

_Not my cheekbones, no! Not Leo's eyes, either!_

Piper felt surreal, as if they had been locked in this mad situation for eternity. She knew she would implode if just another minute would elapse, knew that she couldn't bear this tension anymore. And somewhere, somehow she found the strength to speak.

"She told us that you are my son," she finished Phoebe's sentence, her voice hoarse as if she had cried for hours.

If possible, his eyes widened even further. He refused to look at her.

"Chris, is that true?" Paige now asked, urgently, wanting and needing an answer.

Chris made an abortive gesture, like a runner at a false start. Then he hunched in on himself arms around his body, face forward so that his hair hid his expression. Piper could hear him breathe. It sounded like an approaching storm to her ears.

This was wrong, she suddenly knew. She shouldn't have said it, shouldn't have brought this on all of them. She should have sent him away. He didn't want to talk about this, didn't want _them_, and for once the cowardly way would have been better. If only she could freeze this moment and run away, flee from the truth that hung, heavy and suffocating, over them all.

Phoebe was crying openly now. She'd been closest to him, and their disagreement (_you threw him out of the house! You told him you didn't want him!) _had hurt her the most.

All the pain Piper wouldn't allow herself to feel lay in Phoebe's voice: "Please, Chris! We need to know. Please!"

Something broke.

The tension went out of Chris like a great gush of wind, leaving the room strangely empty.

He stood completely still, arms still around himself, face still hidden. He looked ashamed, and small, and lost, and terribly young.

And then he nodded.

Something broke.

All the pain in her life, all the terrible things she'd seen, they hadn't prepared Piper for this. It hadn't been like this, losing Prue, losing Leo, knowing that Wyatt would turn evil. It had been nothing to this.

How could she not have known this?

_I'm not much older than her_! He had yelled at her when Hand had first come to their time. _And I've been fighting against demons and warlocks as long as she served them! If it would help my mission, I'd lay down my life in an instant! I've lost more than you can imagine and if I fail I'll have to go back there again!_

How could she have missed all the signs?

_You've no idea what you're saying,_ he'd whispered. _What do you know about me? Have you ever cared how I accomplished the things you asked of me? Have you ever asked where I come from in all this? How dare you compare me to him? How _dare_ you?_

Why had she only seen the spite, the mistrust, the lies? Why had she not noticed his loneliness? Had she been deaf? Blind? Simply stupid?

And, oh, the scars on his back. The apathy with which he accepted pain, hunger, exhaustion, threats, as if there was nothing else in his life, as if he had never known what it was to be safe, and loved, and cherished.

_You can't imagine what it was like, when Wyatt took power and the world turned upside down. It might be wrong from your perspective, but I was in a war, and we were desperate, and you don't know…_

If this was her son, what had she done to him? How could she have failed a child so very much that he had turned into this hard, hopeless warrior? How COULD THIS BE?

_I was NEVER a victim! God, I wished I could have been! But I didn't have a choice, did I? Wyatt was going evil, and you were no help at all! What should I have done? I was fifteen, God damn it! There were no good options, no right ways! I couldn't lie back and be a victim, could I? I was the only one left, and so I did what I had to do! You would have done the same!_

If this was her son, then he hated her, for all the things she'd done and not done, for the past and the present and the future. If this was her son, then all her hopes were doomed and it were better she died on the spot before becoming the monster that had done this to him!

She was frozen on the outside, but inside she was screaming, wailing in denial, clawing at her own mind, screaming for a salvation that would never come, for how could she ever be absolved for this, for this huge, desperate failure that her life would become?

How could she ever justify to herself that she had done this to her child (_hurt him, threatened him, harmed him, threw him out of the house, denied him, hated him, NOT RECOGNIZED HIM, nearly let him die_)?

If this was the truth, if this was her son…

…then Wyatt wasn't the only Halliwell that would turn evil.

_My Piper would have understood…_

Something broke.

"No," she whispered, not fully understanding herself what she was saying, not realizing she had actually said it until it was too late. "No. You can't possibly be my son."

Even as she said it, she wanted to take it back. It didn't express what she'd been thinking, was, in fact, the very opposite, and she wanted to reach out and freeze the words in mid-air before they could reach his ear.

But she'd never learned how to do that, in all her years as a witch.

So she had to watch them fly. She watched them hit. She watched Chris flinch back violently, watched his face go white with pain. Watched him shudder, accept her words and tuck them away in his mind. It took less time than a heartbeat, not enough time to say anything, to explain, and she was struck speechless anyway.

She found herself reaching out to him instead, wanting to embrace him, to wipe away the expression of pain with a tender hand, but he misunderstood her gesture for an attack and paled even more, twisting back like a panicked animal.

Something broke.

It was her heart.

"I am sorry you feel that way, Piper," her son said, very quietly, and orbed away.

* * *

A/N: Well. Yes. Sorry about that. But seriously, guys, this was hard work. I desperately wanted to do this from Piper's pov, and I just hope it worked the way it was supposed to. Unfortunately I now have to tell you that the next chapter will probably take at least a week. I'm insanely busy and wrote this one instead of sleeping, that's how much I love you.

But I'm still evil, I know!

*ducks behind her computer in fear*

…don't kill me!


	31. Solace

**Solace**

Chris didn't even know that he had orbed away, but somehow he found himself on the top of the Golden Gate Bridge, staring at the Bay with burning eyes.

He touched his neck and cheeks and found them both wet, one with blood and one with tears. It seemed interchangeable to him.

He laughed, but it was a broken, ugly thing, more a sob than anything else.

…_you can't possibly be my son_.

For a while he just stood there, not planning, not thinking, while the cold wind whipped his hair into his face and hungrily grabbed at his clothes.

He wasn't sure the antidote had really worked, for he found that he could hardly breathe. His chest felt as if a heavy weight sat on it, pressing down, pressing air and strength and joy right out of him. Perhaps Piper was right. Perhaps he wasn't Halliwell enough to be healed by them anymore.

But then he fought that thought away, just as he suppressed all the other things he might have felt – should have felt, if he were a sane, normal, desirable son – and concentrated on his other senses.

Sarah was in danger, because of him, and he needed to find her. At least one thing needed to turn out right today, or he wouldn't have the will to go on.

She wasn't his charge in the traditional sense (_more the other way round_, he thought with bitter humour), but there was a bond between them, and that was enough. He closed his eyes, delved deep within himself, and searched for the thread connecting him to her.

There it was. In his mind he followed it, meandering through the streets of San Francisco, until it reached an old, dilapidated warehouse near the docks and vanished inside.

He opened his eyes and smiled. It was a broken, ugly smile, but at lea st it was a smile. He orbed to her position.

The punishment the oath had brought was already upon her, but she was still alive. Her symptoms were very nearly a mirror of what he'd gone through earlier this day – a face flushed with fever and slick with sweat, a slight trembling in her body, her breathing shallow and fast.

The place she had chosen to hide in was abandoned, and she hadn't bothered to use what was there to protect herself, had just lain down on the hard floor, ready and willing to die.

Well, not today.

He knelt down by her side and carefully lifted her head into his lap. Slowly, he touched her forehead, her eyes, her lips, letting his magic flow into her.

"I hold your oaths fulfilled," he then whispered. "Be free, and be whole, Sarah."

Slowly, health returned to her body and colour to her cheeks. The trembling ceased and she began to stir, hands clenching and unclenching as she fought her way back to consciousness.

Then her eyes snapped open, to him, to her surroundings, and she was as alert as if she'd never slept at all. _War makes light sleepers of us all_, he thought dryly.

"Are you all right?" she whispered, and for one moment, he wanted to roll his eyes at her. That question was getting old.

"I'm fine," he then answered instead. "The potion worked perfectly. Thank you for saving my life," he paused, and even found the strength inside himself to smile. "Again, I should say."

She moved her head, then her legs. Not to get away from him, but to test the strength of her limbs. It was familiar, and it reminded him of the many times he'd surfaced from unconsciousness, unsure about his own status and afraid to find out how many broken bones he'd nurse this time. Checking your own lack of health in less than ideal circumstances – another thing the future had made them experts of.

"Take it slowly," he whispered. "The oath very nearly killed you. I was just in time."

At that she stiffened, and he could see from her face that memories of the last hour were only now returning to her. Despite his warning she sat up, hissed in pain when her sore muscles protested, and once again fixed her eyes on him.

"I'm sorry," she said in a rush, as if all the words wanted to get out at the same time. "I'm so sorry I broke my promises, but I could see no other way to get their blood. I thought telling them…"

She broke off. Her gaze slowly rose to his face, took in its lines, the dirt, the exhaustion. It was like a touch to Chris, painful and much too observant, so he averted his eyes. He didn't want her to see what lay under his skin.

"How did they take it?" She whispered.

He felt the weight of her question deep inside himself, sinking to the bottom of his stomach like a lead weight.

"Piper wouldn't believe it," he said tonelessly. "I guess no son of hers could ever do the things I did."

Sarah closed her eyes. There was real grief on her face, but no surprise.

"I am sorry," she said again.

From some unknown well of control, he took the strength to shrug.

"There's still a job to do," he answered.

Again, she looked at him, and to his surprise he saw that it wasn't a judging, weighing look, the one his comrades had given him when his last cousin had died, the one he'd received when he came back from Alex' place, the blood of his friend still on his hands.

It wasn't a 'can-he-do-it?'-look at all. It was a 'what-can-I-do-for-him?'-look. And when she rightly decided it was best just to play along, he want to hug her, because no one since Bianca had understood.

Slowly, Sarah climbed to her feet, looked around and sniffed.

"I assume you have a base of operations?" She asked, and despite the pain and sorrow carving at him from the inside, he grinned. This was something he could do. These were well-worn tracks he could travel along, even if he was limping badly.

"You bet," he said, offered her his hand, and orbed them both away.

They materialised bathed in light. The sun and warmth were such a stark contrast to the dark warehouse that Chris felt disoriented for a moment.

"The apartment belonged to a warlock," he then explained. "He was on my list anyway, and the place is ideal. He moved in only a month ago, flamed in and out so no contact to the neighbours, and the standard-wards were pretty high quality. Plus a few other perks."

He pointed to the row of bookshelves filled with a selection of tomes that far surpassed the Charmed Ones 'library' (the Book of Shadow and a few worthless Wiccan pamphlets Phoebe had once bought in a fit of enthusiasm).

Sarah looked completely unimpressed by the lavish surroundings, the soft carpet and antique furniture. When she walked to the ceiling high windows and stood watching silently, he knew that it wasn't to enjoy the bay view or the fact that they were far above the heads of San Francisco's citizens, but to check his wards and their possible weak points.

He wasn't surprised. He had seen the palace Wyatt had built himself, and very much doubted that Sarah's usual quarters were any less lavish. He also knew what she too had probably learned a long time ago: the most luxurious places could be prisons. Blood was blood, whether it was splattered on fine carpets or dirty concrete.

But still he couldn't help but compare her behaviour to that of the sisters – Phoebe, who would squeal and vanish into the luxurious bathroom for hours, Paige, who would squeal even louder and immediately begin to fiddle with the electronic equipment scattered across the large room. Piper, who would look at him reproachfully and demand he donate everything to charity, and say in a scolding tone…

…_you can't possibly be my son_.

He shivered.

"Your exit strategies?" Sarah asked, and he spent the next twenty minutes filling her in on the defences he had built around the place, relieved to have something occupying his mind. But there was only so much to say.

"Something to eat?" He finally proposed. "I'm starving. All the fighting and healing and orbing…"

He trailed off into silence. It was true, he _was_ hungry, but at the same time he felt paralyzed, completely unable to do anything but the most urgent things. How could he even think about entering the kitchen and eating when… _that_… had happened?

He must have stared off into the distance for a while, because Sarah's hand on his arm took him quite by surprise.

"Come on then," she said softly, patiently. "I don't know the first thing about cooking. I don't think I've ever used an oven before, to be honest."

Her words startled him into laughter.

"You're joking," he said, relieved that it at least sounded like his own voice.

"I am not," she said. "I've never spent much time in kitchens before coming here. There was never a reason."

So it was the most normal thing in the world to take her hand and lead her into his brand new kitchen, with marble countertops and brushed steel appliances, and to show her how to use the stove, the pan and some eggs and rashers of bacon to improvise a meal. It didn't even feel as if his mother was looking over his shoulder this time, because Sarah was right there, very solid and real, asking questions as if cooking was the most fascinating thing in the world.

"So how come you never learned this?" He asked when they had settled down with their eggs and freshly toasted slices of bread. "You can't be so much younger than me, and that means you must have known a life before Wyatt."

She shrugged.

"Before Lord Wyatt, yes," she said, then took a bite and closed her eyes in silent enjoyment. "Before servitude, no."

Chris hesitated. He knew that she would explain if he asked her to, but he wasn't sure if he had the right. He'd never been one to talk about his personal life much, and he'd hated it when people hounded him with questions about the Charmed Ones. But she'd offered that snippet willingly, and he honestly wanted to know more.

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to," he said in compromise, and again she shrugged.

"Not much to tell," she answered. "My parents were dark witches, not very strong, just scraping by. When my powers manifested for the first time, they realized what a treasure had dropped into their laps and sold me to the highest bidder."

She took another bite, then reached for her cup and slowly sipped the herbal tea he'd brewed.

"My first Master had fewer resources than Wyatt, but he trained me and rose to power with my help. When Wyatt in turn defeated him, he offered me as a gift of respect. No kitchens in the picture, see?"

Chris' mouth was very dry. He reached for his cup and took a draft of tea.

"How old were you when they… sold you?" He asked.

"I don't really remember," she answered absently. "No older than five, certainly. I'd been in his service for ten years when he gave me to Wyatt, and I was fifteen at that time."

Chris nodded slowly. He often forgot that life hadn't been roses for everyone before the event. With a life like that, Sarah hadn't had much of a chance or choice even before Wyatt enslaved her.

"So you're nineteen now," he did the math. Three years younger than he was. He had never thought to ask before. Age didn't really matter in his world, except as proof of one's ability to survive.

"Yes."

"And never used an oven."

"Yes."

"Remind me to teach you, then, if we survive this."

She looked at him and smiled shyly.

"Definitely," she said, and they finished their meal in companionable silence.

He'd originally planned to step right back into research and strategy, but one look over the cleared table convinced him that Sarah couldn't keep going much longer, and he felt his own body shiver with the cold only bone-deep exhaustion brought. They wouldn't be productive like this, no matter how much he wanted to get on with things.

"We should sleep," he said, unable to keep the hesitation out of his voice. Sleep meant dreams, and dreams meant…

…_you can't possibly be my son_.

"I'll take the couch," he offered quickly. "I'm used to it, after all."

But Sarah shook her head.

"You nearly died today, so you're taking the bed."

"You nearly died today, too!" He argued.

"But you're the one who bothered to procure a bedroom," she said in a tone that sorted bedrooms with other useless luxuries like private planes and gold teeth. "So you'll take it."

He wanted to argue a bit more, then realized that the isolation his bedroom and its solid door would bring wasn't the worst idea for tonight. So he gave in, showed her the second bathroom and offered her the contents of the huge wardrobe and turned in for the night. He was asleep as soon as he had placed his knife under the pillow.

* * *

He dreamed that he was back in Alex' flat, a shabby two-bedroom thing in the unfashionable part of San Francisco, pleading with his best friend to move into one of their safehouses. Alex refused, just as he'd refused on that afternoon a little more than two years ago and nineteen years into the future. He argued that he was safe, that Wyatt wouldn't bother coming after someone as unimportant and neutral as he was, and Chris' heart filled with dread as it had that day, because even then he'd known that Alex' only importance lay in his relationship with Chris and the power that gave Wyatt.

And then the air flickered in the middle of the room, and Hand was there, dressed in the tight black leather Wyatt favoured for his assassins, a knife in her hand and a cold smile on her face.

Chris was on his feet and halfway through the room before she even saw him, because he knew that he'd only get one chance with her. Bianca had been training him for months, but he was no match to her, and he knew that even Bianca couldn't take on Hand and win.

But then Hand saw him. Her face twisted. She flicked her wrist and he was frozen in mid-leap, arms outstretched towards her. Wyatt often borrowed his molecular immobilization to her, as if to show the world that he had more powers than he could ever need. The fact that she used his own mother's power against him was like a knife to Chris' gut, and his insides roared with anger as he watched her advance on him.

She eyed him curiously, as if he was a specimen in a zoo or a museum – Fox, the only opposition to Lord Wyatt, Fox, the second to last Halliwell left on earth.

And then Alex was there, in her back, aiming his pathetic power to produce flames at her, and Chris wanted to scream at him to leave, to run away, to let him die in the war he himself had started.

Hand shrugged Alex' attack off easily, and slowly walked towards him, as if she had all the time in the world. He was on the ground before he could even raise his hands, and her knife was at his throat before he could gasp.

And suddenly it was Chris lying on the ground, Hand over him, her eyes cold and merciless, and he knew that he was going to die. There was no hope here, no future, only the knife and his killer, and he felt his struggling hands cease their fight and give in, glad that the pain would finally be over.

But then his mother took the place of Hand, crouching on his chest, pressing him into the ground, his mother's eyes that captured his with their merciless stare, his mother's hand that guided the knife to his neck and cut his throat with the precise, calm arc of a practiced killer… and his red blood spattered across the wallpaper, just as Alex' blood had, and his mother opened her mouth and said…

…_you can't possibly be my son_.

That was when he screamed, but still the dream kept hold of him, dragging him down and down, drowning him in his own blood, and while everything went dark around him, his mother's face stayed clear, calm and alien in its expression, and he screamed and screamed, the horror bubbling out of him in a keening wail…

Something woke him. Blindly, he flung out a hand and unleashed his magic against whatever attacker had snuck up on him.

Only then did he remember where he was and who was with him.

"Sarah?" He croaked in panic and fumbled for his reading lamp. "Are you okay?"

Artificial light filled the room, and he saw Sarah standing by the light switch, her arms crossed.

"Don't worry," she said dryly. "I'm not mad enough to come close to a Halliwell that's asleep. I threw a pillow."

She pointed at a mess of feathers and linen that floated down to the floor, ripped to shreds by his magic.

He wanted to laugh at the pathetic sight, but laughing wouldn't work after the dream, and again it came out as a sob.

"You want me to leave?" She asked quietly.

He meant to nod, in his mind he had already made the gesture, but against his own intention, his head moved sideways, and then down, indicating her that she could come closer.

He'd thought he would feel uneasy in her presence after remembering Alex' death, but surprisingly that wasn't the case. He'd been terrified when it had happened, but in hindsight and with the knowledge he'd gained about Sarah's role in all this, he read the signs differently. Hand hadn't killed him, although it would have been easy for her. While Wyatt had always claimed that he wanted Chris as a prisoner, that, too, would have been simple to achieve for her. He'd been helpless, and she hadn't even touched him. No, that wasn't the part of the dream that was getting to him.

"I dreamed Mom was killing me," he confessed quietly, wanting to take the words back as soon as he'd said them. It was ridiculous, talking about dreams when they had so much more important things to do, ridiculous and pathetic.

But Sarah didn't see it that way.

"I have nightmares of Lord Wyatt whenever I close my eyes," she answered, just as quietly, and averted her eyes. "I don't think they'll ever go away."

"Perhaps they will, if we win and you get to see the real Wyatt," he said. "At least you'll know that they are only dreams, then."

They were quiet for a while.

"Your mother will change her mind," Sarah then offered. "She's impulsive and very emotional, and once she'd thought through what you've done for them, she'll…"

"But that's not what I want," he interrupted her harshly. He was breathing hard, as if he'd been running for a long time, and the words were ripped from his throat without his volition. "I don't want to be loved because I tried so hard, or because they think they have to now that I'm their son. I don't want to be welcomed into the family graciously, because they know it's the only thing to do. I want them to look at me and see someone they're proud of, someone they'd want even if he wasn't related to them. I want to be more than just another Halliwell!"

"But that's exactly what you are, Chris! They _must_ realize your worth," Sarah said, a strange intensity to her voice.

"No, I don't think they will," Chris whispered. "They see a liar, a cheater, a guy who kidnapped Leo and manipulated the sisters, someone that is so far away from their own ideals that he must seem evil to them. And I can never explain, I can never show them…"

He broke off, the sheer catastrophe of it all only now becoming clear to him. He had ruined it all, probably forever. In about eight months he would be born, and now that they knew, he might never have a chance with them at all. Would they see his dark, future self when they looked at the baby? Would they mistrust the young Chris' impulses and morals before he'd have a chance to prove himself, just because they knew how another version of him had turned out to be?

God, what if this wasn't something he'd just done to himself, what if he'd done it to the other Chris as well, what if he'd ruined his own future forever, no matter if he brought Gideon down or not? What…

"I don't even know why I'm so surprised," he said bitterly, because everything was better than continuing that thought. "It's been happening all my life, after all – my dad, Wyatt, now Piper… they're disappointed by what I am or what I'm not, and then they don't want me. I just…"

For a moment, the enormity of all that he'd lost threatened to overwhelm him. His mother was dirt in the ground now, his brother was evil now, but he could remember a time when everything had been different, when she'd called him peanut and they had baked cookies together, when Wyatt had given him his favourite toy car because Dad had missed another one of his birthdays, and when he'd been truly, genuinely happy.

That couldn't be gone forever, it just couldn't. He wouldn't survive if it was.

"I just… hoped it wouldn't matter," Chris said slowly. "I mean, she was always proud of me, when she was alive. And I loved her, so very much. I just thought that love and pride would always be a part of us, no matter what happened. I never thought she'd turn away from me…"

He stopped, knowing that he would cry soon, and if he did, that he would never be able to stop again.

Sarah took a deep breath.

"I don't know what that feels like," she confessed, her voice very quiet. "I don't think anyone has ever loved me that way, but…" she hesitated, and Chris turned his eyes towards her, too tired and hurting to be the strong, independent leader of the light who needed no one and nothing.

"If they don't love you because of what you've done, they're stupid," it burst out of Sarah. "You aren't just their son or nephew. You are so much more, have done so much more, mean so much more! And not just as Fox, not just because of the things you've achieved in the future. I came to the past because of what you'll be, but now I'd follow you just for _who _you are! This good, strong, _wise_ person that even now wants to forgive them for what they've done to you. They shouldn't love you less for what you've been through, Chris, they should love you only more. You deserve it. Believe me. You deserve the best they can give you."

And if he gave in, then, and cried, and allowed his former mortal enemy to see him weak and comfort him, then no one would ever tell this tale, and the night that surrounded them would hide his pain from the world till the morning came.

* * *

A/N: Thank you all for your patience and your reviews. The next chapter will have Piper and Leo, and will therefore be even harder to write. If you want to motivate me, you know exactly what to do…


	32. But Your Dreams May Not

A/N: Puzzling out Leo and his reasoning was perhaps the most difficult part of this story for me. I didn't get where he was coming from in the series, and his mood swings frankly pissed me off, but I still didn't just want to cast him in bastard-mode and leave it at that. Not sure if it worked…

* * *

**But Your Dreams May Not**

It was as if Chris' absence had ripped a hole into the Manor and all its inhabitants, Phoebe thought numbly, an emptiness that had filled with shame and despair and all that wasted time. Phoebe could nearly see it as she wandered aimlessly through the house, hovering just around the corner, pressing down on their shoulders, waiting for them to do something about it.

Only, she didn't know what she could do.

The minute Chris had orbed out and away, Phoebe had glared at her sister and brother-in-law, stomped out of the room, _slammed_ the kitchen door shut and started calling for Chris (_my nephew, God, my nephew!)_. She had done that a lot this past week, without any effect, and so assumed that he had put them on mute like he'd done before. But if there was even the slightest chance that he hadn't and could hear them, she wanted him to know she had called, immediately, without hesitation.

But one could only stay in the kitchen and shout one's love and pride at the ceiling for so long before feeling foolish.

When she finally returned to the others, the conservatory was silent as the grave. Piper was gone, probably having retreated to her room. Paige was standing in front of a window, staring sightlessly out into the afternoon light. And Leo had collapsed on the sofa, head buried in both hands, as if the weight of it had become too much.

Phoebe sent him a glare of epic proportions that was totally wasted on him, because he didn't look up, not once. Deprived of anything to do and anyone to attack, Phoebe began pacing the room, up and down, up and down, the way Chris had done so many times.

_When we drove him to distraction by refusing to cooperate._

She paced and paced, ignoring the protest of her feet that disliked the new high heels, the throbbing of a growing headache, and all the smaller aches – her back, where she'd hit the wall, her knees, where she'd hit the ground, and above all, oh, so much more than all the others, the small burning of the cut Hand/Sarah'd made when she'd taken her blood.

On one of her rounds she caught Paige's profile and saw that her sister was crying soundlessly, face pressed against the windowpane, smudged with tears, eyes staring into nothing. Phoebe contemplated joining her, offering what comfort she could, but it was only a split-second's thought.

Phoebe knew her own emotions pretty well, and she recognized the great, roaring anger she was feeling right now, even though she'd only experienced it very few times during her life.

It was an anger that wanted out, that consumed everything in its way, and she didn't want Paige to fall victim tot hat. Her younger sister had tried, at least, even though she'd failed just as they all had. But she felt enough sorrow already, from the looks of it, and was innocent of that one great offense that was burning a hole into Phoebe's heart.

…_you can't possibly be my son…_

In a distant part of her mind, Phoebe knew that she had better calm down. At least, she ought to make an effort. Bad things happened when she was this angry, and the situation didn't need any more complications, but, boy, didn't she care!

She'd been lost in one moral dilemma after the next for what felt like an eternity, and the forced diplomacy of the past week hadn't helped any.

Being so angry, finally knowing again what was right and what wrong – it felt good. Really, really good.

It felt so good that when Piper finally deigned to move back downstairs, Phoebe managed to ignore her sister's pallor and red-rimmed eyes, her clenched hands and even the way she just _stood_ there, as if awaiting judgment.

She managed to ignore all that and concentrate on her anger instead.

"You!" She snarled. "How could you? How could you _do_ that to him? Did you see the look on his face? How could you _reject_ him like that? He's your son!"

Piper placed a shaking hand against the wall, steadying herself. She then began to feel her way across the room slowly, using tables and chairs as support until she reached the sofa and sat down abruptly, as if her legs had simply ceased to function.

Only then did she speak.

"I know," she said hoarsely.

Only that. As if it could ever be enough.

Phoebe gaped at her.

"You _know?"_

Piper drew a short, aborted breath.

"Yes," she whispered with a voice like broken glass. "I know everything you could possibly accuse me of. I know it's all true."

She wanted to slap Piper across the face. She wanted to channel her anger into her, and all the pain Chris must have felt when she said – that – to him.

Was it a good thing that she'd never been able to sense anything from him? He'd wanted to keep this secret, desperately so, but if she'd known what he felt, what he was, any sooner, maybe she would have done more for him, maybe she could have prevented this… this disaster.

With that thought, Phoebe felt her anger drain away. She fought to hold onto it, clawed at its edges to keep it going, because she knew what would be left without it, and she really, really didn't want to deal with it (_guiltsorrowpainguilt_… _why didn't I protect him?). _

"And you," she yelled, whirling around to Leo and fixing him with an accusing finger. "Have you swallowed you tongue? What kind of angel are you, anyway? You spent months and months picking on him, and now that he turns out to be your _son_, you can't even look at us?"

Leo raised his head, then, and looked at her. Phoebe immediately wished he hadn't.

There were lines on his face, new traces of age and pain that hadn't been there, and his skin looked unhealthily pale, even for a dead man.

But what really shook Phoebe was the expression on that pale, lined face. Because Leo looked like a man whose whole life had crumbled to dust right in front of him.

"I'm…" he whispered, then lapsed into silence as if there was nothing, nothing at all he could finish that sentence with.

He began to cry, not soundlessly like Paige, who was still pressed against the window by an invisible force, but with huge, panting, inconsolable sobs that shook his body violently.

"I'm…"

He tried to raise a hand to his eyes, to shield himself from view, perhaps, but his hands trembled so badly he couldn't finish the move.

Phoebe knew that Leo had been very conflicted this past year, trying to integrate his different roles and balance his duties with his family. At least she knew it theoretically, but only now that Leo's composure, his strength, all his self-confidence imploded in front of her eyes did she realize how very much on edge he must have been this entire time.

He'd had things dropped into his lap no man could ever carry alone, and still he'd tried to do so, all on his own, while holding onto his Elder-serenity with everything he had.

It had all been too much for him already. And then Chris' lies and manipulations had started, making things even more difficult, even more tangled and opaque, and perhaps there had also been jealousy, because Chris had taken his place and Leo hadn't even been able to see his son as often as he wanted.

Perhaps it was because Chris had been the only part of the equation he could hope to remove without shattering the whole thing.

Only that now it had turned out that Chris wasn't just one insignificant number Leo could ignore without danger. He was at the very core of it all, and by trying to eliminate him from the equation, Leo had done exactly the thing he'd fought so hard to prevent.

He'd failed his family.

And he knew it.

"I'm his father," he whispered to himself, confession and acceptance and resignation and a terrible pain all wrapped into a single sentence, such an awful, awful sentence that Phoebe wanted to run away and hide. "His father!"

And suddenly, Piper opened her hands to reveal the longish tube of a pregnancy test. It was very clearly positive.

"I'm pregnant," she whimpered in a tone fit to break Phoebe's heart and she couldn't, just couldn't be angry at her sister. No anger could stand against that pain. Nothing she could say or do could be worse than what she saw in Piper's eyes. "I just checked, and I'm pregnant. All this time I've been pregnant with him, and I didn't even know! I drove my son out of his home, and now he thinks I hate him! I ruined everything. He'll never speak to me again!"

And despite all her experience with psychology and her columns, despite all the good advise she'd given over the years, Phoebe realized that she hadn't the slightest idea how to make this right again, how to take this broken thing her family had become and put it back together again.

As she stared at the silent tears of Paige, Leo's sobs and Piper's hands that were still clutching the test tube, as she felt the pain of her family echo through her mind and join her own pain, she very much wished the anger would come back to her.

Because anything, anything would be better than this.

* * *

"Okay," Sarah began "There are several possible approaches to this situation. First, a trap or an ambush. Second, bombing. Third, assassination."

Chris, sitting at the table with an uncapped pen at the ready, nodded and began to note down the list.

"Fourth, an outright attack. Fifth, infiltration of his army. Sixth, a ruse to make him let his guard down, _then _an attack or assassination."

"We can rule out open attack," Chris said immediately. "It didn't work the last time, and he'll be even better prepared for that this time around."

Sarah nodded agreement. "I don't see much chance for a trap or an ambush," she added. "He's too careful, and his body wards are too powerful to be unravelled without a lot of time."

"That would rule out assassination, too," Chris added with a sinking heart. "Could a bomb pierce those wards?"

"I'm not sure," Sarah admitted. "It's more a question of luck than of timing. If he's close enough to it – if his wards aren't as strong as I'm afraid they are…"

"So we'd risk a failed attempt, which would flush him out again, and we'd have to start the search all over," Chris continued. "Damn it! We just haven't enough time! Most likely he'll attack as soon as he learns that our forces are divided, and I'm honestly not sure if Leo and the Charmed Ones could hold him off."

"My guess is that they still don't realize how ruthless he is," Sarah said thoughtfully. "He is a true believer in what he is doing, and he'll take all of them out if he feels that he has to. Leo still sees his old mentor in him, and no matter what they think of Elders in general, the sisters can't imagine what one of them is capable of."

"Which leaves us with infiltration or a very good ruse as our only options," Chris concluded. "Not the best premise."

"But not the worst, either," Sarah disagreed. "You've managed under more difficult conditions, and so have I."

Chris hesitated.

"So how did you do it?" he asked, knowing that she knew exactly what he meant. Wyatt's ultimate bid for power had begun with the destruction of the Elders, and it had been Sarah who'd made this possible. To enter the Elder's innermost realm, one needed to be a Elder (Wyatt had been long banned from the heavens by then) or have an Elder's power. No Elder gave up his powers willingly.

Sarah met his eyes.

"Kill Leo, you mean," she asked quietly. Leo had been the weak link, the one fooled by Sarah. Leo had been the one to lose his powers and usher in the age of Wyatt, Lord of Magic.

"Yes," Chris said calmly. "Tell me how you killed my father."

It was a topic they'd been dancing around these past weeks in a hundred ways. Chris had always been ambivalent towards his father (to put it mildly), and though it had shocked him when Wyatt had started his attack on the heavens with the murder of his own father, it hadn't surprised him. It hadn't even hurt that much, not as much as his mother's death, or his aunts', or his baby cousins'.

But it _had_ hurt. All the more because he'd never properly grieved for the man, all the more because the feeling of loss had been coloured with anger and insecurity and the feeling of chances missed. Now he would never understand his father.

But that wasn't what mattered right now. The strategic aspect of it was important. It was important how Sarah had, somehow, managed to corner and Elder and kill him to take his power. Because that was what they needed to do, minus the power thing.

He could see a similar line of thoughts play out on Sarah's face, from memories to the personal to necessity to strategy. And when she answered, it was in the dry, professional tone of the assassin, not in the hesitant voice of the girl who had done so much wrong.

"It wasn't easy," she said. "By then, most Elders had retreated to the heavens for good, and the barrier was almost closed. I had been with Lord Wyatt for two years, and we knew that this was our last chance to get rid of them. Leo had always had more ties to this world than most of the others, and his emotions usually clouded his good sense. But, still, it wasn't easy. And it took some planning."

"What did you do?"

Chris tried not to imagine his brother, sprawled on his throne in that colossal palace of his, happily plotting his father's death right along with the capture of his brother.

"We tricked him. Lord Wyatt was sure that his father still hadn't accepted what Lord Wyatt had become, and that Leo would be willing to talk with me if he thought Lord Wyatt had sent me to parlay. So we left messages at significant places – your mother's grave, the Manor, Golden Gate Bridge -, offering a meeting. And he came."

Sarah was deep within her memories now.

"He was suspicious, of course, but when I told him that his son regretted the actions he had taken, and wanted nothing more than reconciliation, he stayed long enough for me to unravel his body wards and take away his ability to orb. It's the easiest Elder power to steal, possibly because they consider it so much as a part of themselves that they don't even think of protecting it."

She frowned, worrying her lip with her teeth.

"He couldn't flee then, and although he put up a good fight, he hadn't been in a real battle for years. Elders usually have people for that kind of thing, and it showed."

She hesitated. "He wouldn't believe that Lord Wyatt had truly sent me, that he had really ordered me to do this, till the very end. He died denying the truth."

Yes, that was so typical of Leo. Chris felt the old pain of an absent father rise in him, but suppressed it easily. That pain was weak, worn down, nothing to the rejection by his mother. Leo had never really seen Chris, and had doted on Wyatt instead. In a way it was quite fitting that this unbalance had brought him down in the end.

"So you made him believe what he wanted to believe, and that made him overlook the danger he was in," he summarized. "The Elders are arrogant, and they believe they see more than we do. That's pretty much the core motivation for Gideon's actions, too."

"In his eyes," Sarah agreed, "he's the only one clever enough to understand what will happen and to stop that danger from ever becoming real. He believes his reasoning to be superior, and above all he wants to be right about it."

"Could we make this work for us?" Chris asked, his mind spinning plans and rejecting them, dancing through a thousand visions and revisions.

"Yes," Sarah smiled the dark smile of Hand, lips thin and eyes determined. "Yes, I believe we very well could."

* * *

A/N: The chapter of this title is from the wondrous song "Father and Son" by Cat Stevens, though I'm sure you all know it anyway.

Another two chapters and we're going after Gideon. Are you as excited as I am?


	33. Family and Lunacy

A/N:You know, I'm really delighted so many of you want Sarah and Chris to be a happy couple, but we're still pretty far away from happy-time for either of them. You remember that I'm evil, right? Well, there _are_ a few things I didn't get around to mentioning, yet…

And so this A/N is also a **trigger warning**_**! **_Nothing graphic at all, but if you are sensitive in the area of mentioned noncon, please just message me and I'll give you a more detailed warning.

* * *

**Family and Lunacy**

"We messed up, Paige," Phoebe whispered. "We really messed up this time."

She was nursing another cup of strong coffee, the fourth one, because she really, really didn't want to sleep with what was on her mind right now, and while the caffeine buzz kept the feeling of numb defeat at bay, it also made her itch to do _something_.

Planning how she would spoil her baby nephew once he _was_ a baby was not nearly enough. Though she would do that, she really, really would. She'd shower him with love, and give him everything he could ever wish for, and make sure that that desperate look of loss never ever even came near his eyes again.

She'd already been online and bought a huge box of baby toys. Perhaps she should also branch out into baby clothes?

"You think I don't know that?" Paige asked. She had watched Phoebe browse for toys without commenting. Once. And she was also drinking coffee like mad. "Here we have this wonderful, selfless nephew who basically sacrificed his whole life to stop his brother from hurting others, who gets tortured by said brother and sees his whole family _and_ his fiancé die, and when he comes into the past to warn us, we not only don't recognize who he is, we also treat him like shit. At least you _tried_ to give your blood when he was dying in front of our eyes."

"Oh God, I was trying to _forget_ the torture," Phoebe whimpered. She hadn't been very successful, actually. Who'd thought that anyone could memorize a heap of scars from just one tiny glance? Well, Phoebe could. She remembered every single one of them.

She also remembered how he'd looked at her, in gratified surprise, when she'd thanked him for keeping them safe. And how he had told her that he'd been trained by someone very much like her, who'd been dead for a long time. And how… Oh God, how was she ever to function like a normal human being again?

"More coffee," Paige announced as if she'd read her thoughts.

Phoebe really, really loved her younger sister at that moment.

"You know what really gets to me?" Paige asked when she returned with two cups of fresh, scalding hot coffee.

"I've been over the past weeks again and again, and we should have seen it. We really should have seen it."

"I know," Phoebe agreed. "All those similarities…"

"Not just that, sister dearest. Think of all the things he told us, and especially all the things Hand told us. If we'd only listened to her, it would have been obvious! It's like she really wanted us to know, but couldn't just come out with it. So she hinted at it, again and again. God, I've been such an idiot."

"We've all been, sweetie," Phoebe said, glad that her powers of consolation were working again. At least where Paige was concerned. She wasn't quite so sure about Piper or Leo. "And she couldn't have been any clearer, I think. He commanded her not to tell us, right at the beginning. It was actually one of the first things he said to her, remember?"

"I wonder why he did that," Paige mused. "I mean, future consequences, sure, I get that one now. It would have been _pretty_ awkward if we'd found out before he'd actually been conceived. But afterwards?"

"Perhaps he was worried how we'd react?" Phoebe was thinking aloud. "Or perhaps how _he_ would react. I'm quite sure we're all dead in his future. It must have been hard enough to spend time with us all without that additional baggage."

She sighed.

"And anyway, it shouldn't have mattered."

"Of course it should," Paige was staring at her as if she'd grown a second head. "I mean, everything would have been different if we'd known. We'd have trusted him, and supported him…"

"Yeah, but shouldn't we have done that, anyway?" Phoebe asked.

"Well, probably not from the very beginning," she then amended. I mean, he was pretty shifty, turning up like that. But once he'd proven himself to us… It was obvious that he was on our side, wasn't it? And even if we didn't like all of his methods, shouldn't we have considered where he was coming from? We've been in the past ourselves, after all, we should have known…"

"All these ifs and shoulds are really giving me a headache."

Paige was rubbing her temples gingerly. "Isn't it more important to find out what we're going to do now that we know?"

"I've tried calling for him about a thousand times," Phoebe felt a twin-headache emerging. She'd forgotten about this particular downside of coffee. She always did.

"And I've been scrying for hours."

Phoebe sighed.

"Well all I can tell you is that I'll grab him into a hug and never let him go again the next time I see him."

"Get in line," Paige murmured. "But what about Piper and Leo?"

"Honestly? I can't really bring myself to care at the moment."

"That's not fair, Phoebe. They're really broken up about this. Crushed. They would do anything to take it back."

"Yeah, now he's their son," Phoebe said bitterly. "Don't you think that's a bit hypocritical? They ignore reality, his arguments, _our_ arguments for weeks. And now he suddenly has to have had a good reason, just because they did the nasties?"

"Ugh, Phoebe!"

"I'm serious, Paige."

"So am I," Paige assured her. "I just think it's more than that. Like, before we knew who he is, we could never be entirely sure of his motives, right? I mean, why try so hard, when he could have just killed little Wyatt? Why all the lies and manipulations? But now it all makes sense. He came back to save his family."

"He came back because he's a good person. A hero," Phoebe corrected her. "And that much was obvious before. They should have trusted him. _We_ should have trusted him."

She sighed again. "How can he ever forgive us for all that?"

"We must face the possibility that he never will," Paige said darkly. "If Piper had reacted differently, who knows, but I wouldn't blame him if he wanted nothing to do with us ever again."

"But he'll need our help!" Phoebe protested, this new worry enough to banish even the pleasant buzz of caffeine-poisoning. "He's going to go after Gideon, and he'll need us for that!"

"He has Hand," Paige reminded her. "I'm sure she will let nothing happen to him. She's pretty protective of our nephew, isn't she?"

"I'm glad she is," Phoebe said glumly. "The way he's been putting himself into danger, someone really needs to be."

"I hear ya," Paige sighed, then hesitated and checked the time. "More coffee?"

* * *

Three days went by while Chris and Sarah prepared, and sparred, and developed a plan that might actually get rid of Gideon and leave the two of them alive.

They had quickly settled into a strange domesticity, sharing chores and preparing meals together, something that weirded Chris out no end whenever he thought about it, but that felt completely natural whenever he didn't.

Outside the Manor, now both of them outlaws of some kind, the last barriers between them seemed to fall, and Chris was frightened and pleased at the same time about how quickly they got closer to each other, as if she was the friend he'd always been waiting for.

Part of it was the usual quick intimacy fighting together brought. Chris had experienced it many times. You took strength from each other, because you had to. You relied on each other, because you needed to, and you couldn't possibly keep your distance from someone who had your life in their hands.

But it was more. She seemed to understand him in a way not even Bianca had, and he just couldn't puzzle out why that was the case, what could have been so similar in their very different lives to make them get each other instinctively, as if they shared a frequency in the very core of their personalities.

That is, he couldn't puzzle it out until the third afternoon of their shared exile, when a harmless stake-out suddenly went very wrong.

They'd been trying to find out more about the composition of Gideon's private little army. Even though their plans were progressing nicely, and they weren't really expecting that they'd have to deal with them at all, it always paid off to be prepared. And so they'd been hanging out in the demon taverns regularly frequented by members of the Tasra-clan, sufficiently disguised by glamours and posing as warlocks.

They hadn't found out much, but what they _had_ overheard was very interesting indeed.

None of the demons working for Gideon – whom they never called by name or even nature, referring to him just as 'the boss' – had the slightest idea what he was up to. In fact, none of them even seemed to know that he was an Elder or that his conflict was with someone as powerful as the Charmed Ones.

Which was good news to Chris, since restricted knowledge meant that Gideon would be much less likely to discuss sensitive issues in front of guards. Which, in turn, meant that they had found an easy way to reduce the number of demons they'd had to deal with.

Now they only needed a way to plant wards around Gideon's main hideout beforehand, without alerting the Elder to it.

Chris slipped away from the bar to explore just one of these possible ways, leaving Sarah to deal with a _very_ attentive warlock who'd been eyeing her for a while. He wasn't affiliated with Gideon directly, but he had been dealing with the Tasra for a long time, and probably knew a lot about their routines.

Chris was a bit miffed, to be honest, how much easier spying seemed to be for a woman than it was for him. He was also irritated about how very good Sarah seemed to be at it. The transformation from assassin to normal human being he'd taken in stride, but the one to empty-headed flirt had rather surprised him. Still, it made things easier.

Or so he'd thought. When he returned half an hour later, following Sarah with the help of their connection to a little-used side tunnel, it became clear very quickly that a thorough re-evaluation was in order.

The warlock was crowding her against a wall, his hand in a place that was entirely in-appropriate for a first date, even among warlocks. Sarah was clearly trying to discourage him without ruining her chances of finding out more, but she did look a bit nauseated at the close contact.

Nothing she couldn't deal with herself, Chris thought while he watched how she playfully slapped said hand away and at the same time gave the warlock a flirty grin. He prepared himself to wait until she gave a signal, then to charge in miming the jealous boyfriend – they had been playing that routine several times over the past days.

But then the warlock said something to Sarah, something quite innocuous when compared to the ways she had been propositioned before. He leaned closer to her, rubbing his lower body against her, and announced:

"Come on, girl! You and I are gonna have fun together. You will like it, whether you want to or not!"

And Sarah went limp like a puppet with her strings cut. She didn't react as the warlock grabbed her arm and began dragging her away, not even twitching when his grip changed from inappropriate to obscene, and with a sinking feeling Chris realized that something was very, very wrong.

Time to step in.

It was a thing of seconds to remove the warlock's hands from Sarah, offer a few well-placed threats and drag her away to an unwarded area from which they could orb. That part wasn't difficult.

What frightened him was the fact that she didn't even seem to recognize him. She was staring into the distance as if she was somewhere else entirely, unconnected to her body and the ways he manoeuvred it through the tunnels.

She allowed him to draw her closer and orb them both to the apartment, and settle her carefully on the sofa. She didn't even blink when he removed the glamours on them and carefully checked her head for injuries.

"Sarah?" He asked after a minute. She remained unresponsive, but she started shivering slightly. "Sarah, can you hear me?"

Her eyes were glassy, her pupils slightly dilated. Her breathing was shallow and unsteady.

"Sarah?"

Damn it, what if the warlock had used some kind of power on her?

He hesitated, then slapped her softly on the cheek, not strong enough to hurt, but enough to snap her out of it. Shockingly, her eyes filled with tears, but nothing else changed.

What had _happened_?

If she didn't improve very soon, he'd take her to Phoebe, family problems or not. This was way too strange for him to experiment and risk her health, but there was one more thing he would try.

Narrowing his eyes, he searched for the connection to her in his mind and found it wide open and stronger than ever before. When he called her name again, he laced it with the power of that connection, and felt it echo deep within himself.

"Sarah, snap out of it!"

And with a gasp and violent flinch she was back.

He didn't bother to hide his relief, but he was very careful not to touch her right now.

For a few minutes, she just kept breathing, face averted and body very tense. Then she started to relax, slowly but visibly, and after another five minutes she turned her head and met his eyes.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I did not expect that to happen."

"What _did_ happen?" He asked, but she just shook her head.

"You don't need to know," she said, leaving no room for discussion.

He decided to discuss it, anyway.

"I do not want to pry, Sarah, but we cannot afford such a weakness without guarding against it. If this happens again…"

"It will not," she said with the same finality. "This was a thousand-to-one-chance…"

"And with our luck, the next one will be right around the corner," he argued, but still she seemed unconvinced.

He sighed. Doing this to her felt wrong, but he really couldn't risk not knowing, not when he was so close to his final goal.

"Don't you trust me?" He asked, and in answer she glared at him, showing him that she knew very well what he was doing and falling for it anyway.

"I'm not refusing to tell because I don't trust you. Believe me, Chris, you do not want to know this. It would only hurt."

He just looked at her steadily. Wanting had never been a part of it. Necessity, on the other hand, was.

She met his eyes for a long time, then, to his surprise, took his hand and squeezed it apologetically, as if trying to give him comfort. Her voice was hoarse when she spoke, but there was no fear or shame in it.

"The thing the demon said," she explained softly. "It was what Lord Wyatt told me, every time he… And I did like it. I had no choice, after all."

It took an impossibly long moment for her words to trickle into his mind and turn into sense, but then he was stumbling to the bathroom, stomach churning, and hugging the toilet in a fit of such acute nausea that he distantly wondered if someone had poisoned him.

The _servilis_-spell commanded body and magic to follow her master's wishes. _You'll like it, whether you want to or not_.

He felt as if his inner organs wanted to exit his body via the mouth, and for a moment he really didn't consider that a bad deal.

At least then his heart wouldn't hurt so much anymore.

She didn't follow him, and she didn't call out to ask whether he was all right. That, more than anything else, told him how shaken she was, and when he returned to the living room, shaky but clean, her eyes were closed in obvious exhaustion.

He wondered if he should just let her rest, but from everything he knew about her, she wouldn't manage sleep, anyway. And so he just settled down on the floor by the sofa, just as he'd done on his last day in the Manor, when he'd confessed to her about that _bloody _spell.

"I'm sorry," He said softly. "I guess I didn't expect that."

She nodded, her eyes still shut.

"Neither did I," she said, sounding much more like herself again. "I don't usually tend to have flashbacks. I just really wasn't prepared for that."

Silence.

"Do you need anything?" He then asked.

"Just a bit of time," she whispered, but her lips twisted into something like a smile, and the sheer effort it had to take her made the nausea rise in him again.

"How can you _not_ hate me?" He whispered, his emotions so raw that he felt them bleeding inside his skin.

As tired as she was, Sarah looked down at him with real surprise in her eyes.

"What do _you_ have to do with it?" She asked, and Chris wanted to scream.

"I am the one who… who caused _it_," he hissed. "I am the one who invented that bloody spell! If it hadn't been for me…"

"… he would have done something else to me, perhaps something worse. Let it go, Chris."

"He _raped_ you," Chris pressed out between clenched teeth. "He forced you to _like_ it! What could be worse than that?"

She sighed, a tired, weary sound that hurt him even more. Sarah was a fighter, she should be furious about this, not resigned, she should be thinking of ways to avenge herself, not just accept it!

"It's more complicated than that, Chris. It always is, with Lord Wyatt."

"How could this be complicated?" He raged. "How could this be anything but evil?"

She gave him a look that was almost condescending.

"You know better than that," she said.

And, unfortunately, she was right.

Wyatt, raising his oh-so-powerful hands against a demon, his face carved in stone ("You will never touch my brother again, filth!"), wiping him from the very fabric of existence.

Wyatt, stepping in front of a five-year-old Chris, his chin jutted out stubbornly ("I won't allow you to make him sad, Dad, I won't. He doesn't need you, 'cause he's got me").

Wyatt, meeting him across the battlefield, Excalibur glowing in his fist ("It's easy, Chris, just step across the line and be with me again. They're not worth it").

Wyatt, presenting him with the triquetras, love and pride shining from his eyes ("These will keep you safe forever, little brother").

Wyatt, slicing him open and gutting him like a fish, healing and slicing and healing and slicing all over again ("Isn't it a good thing that healing replaces lost blood, too? We wouldn't have half as much fun if it didn't, right, Chris?").

Wyatt. Cutting little Henry's throat with so much practice that the red blood splattered everywhere, _everywhere_, but not a drop on him.

_Don't you understand, Chris? Don't you see why I'm doing this? They failed us, our so-called family, they failed us every single time. They said they would, but they _never_ kept us safe. They forced us into this world, and then they left us helpless. Well, I will _never_ let that happen again. If I have to become the absolute power, so be it, but I will _NEVER LET ANYONE HURT YOU AGAIN, brother!

Wyatt. The epitome of complications. Chris' rage died, leaving the taste of ash in his mouth.

"He gave me presents," Sarah said, averting her eyes. "He apologized. He called me 'darling'. He… he cried afterwards. He talked. How do you think I learned about Gideon and what he did? How do you think I got my hands on the Book of Shadows?"

Chris saw the way she was carefully not looking at him, the way her shoulders were hunched up and her fists clenched tightly, and a horrible suspicion rose in his mind.

"You know that it's not your fault, right?" He asked. "You know that you're a victim and have no reason to be ashamed?"

Her head snapped up.

"Of course I do," she said, as if it had been a stupid question. "Even if I didn't know that for myself, do you really think Bianca wouldn't have set me right on that account? It's just difficult, all so tangled up, all so twisted. And I feel so _fucking_ conflicted about him."

She took a deep breath.

"He…" she hesitated, nervously licking her lips. "He believes he's in love with me."

"Oh for God's sake!" All of Chris' rage returned tenfold. "That is just sick!"

"Exactly," Sarah said calmly. She met his eyes square on. "He's not simply evil, he's a sick person, Chris. And someone made him that way. Someone broke him. He may be the greatest power our world has ever seen, but he's also afraid, all the time, and the only person he could trust himself with was a person who could never, ever betray him. The only person he could possibly allow himself to love is someone who could never leave him, because…"

She trailed off, but Chris could finish her sentence just fine.

"…because she has no choice. Because she's his slave. Because she's completely under his power, and so he has no reason to fear her."

"Yes. It's the only way he could ever love. Which is why he tried everything to control you, Chris. He couldn't just let you be. His paranoia wouldn't allow it."

Chris chuckled bitterly.

"We're one messed up pair, aren't we?" He asked, and she gave him a long, sad look.

"At least we're not alone in it," she whispered.

She was quiet for a long time, then, long enough that some of Chris anger calmed down and allowed him to think again. He knew the ambivalence she was talking about, had carried it in his heart for many years now. Even when Wyatt had done things unimaginable, even when he'd killed their family, tortured Chris, killed Bianca, he'd been more than evil. He'd also been his brother. He'd also been a victim.

That was the reason why Chris had never been able to kill him, and he saw the same paradox in Sarah's eyes now. It shocked him just as much as it reminded him of himself. He'd just always thought he was the only one to think that way.

And only now that he saw that conflict on another face, only now that he realized what it had done to another one's life, did he understand that it didn't really matter, in the end.

Wyatt was sick, yes, and he was a victim, but being a victim didn't justify some things. Having a twisted view of the world didn't allow anyone, not even his brother, to do something like that to a woman.

"I don't care," Chris said, and for the first time ever since this conflict began, the path to take was completely clear before him. "If we fail in this, Sarah, if we cannot make absolutely sure that he won't turn evil, I swear that I will kill him. I will _not _allow him to become that Wyatt! I will not allow him to do that to you. Not ever!"

"I'm not your responsibility, Chris," she whispered, but he just shook his head.

"Yes, you are," he stated, leaving no room for doubt. "You are my partner, my sister in arms, my friend, and I swear I'll keep you safe from him."

She tried to smile, but the resignation refused to leave her eyes, and he saw that she _couldn't_ believe him, couldn't even imagine a world where she would be safe.

He sighed.

"In time you'll believe me," he promised her. "Perhaps you should try to sleep? We've got an important day ahead of us."

Funnily enough, that thought seemed to frighten her more than the whole conversation had.

"I cannot sleep now," she whispered, suddenly looking incredibly young. "Lord Wyatt would be waiting in my dreams. Don't make me, please."

"What if I'll stay with you?" Chris asked softly. "I could wake you up if you had a nightmare."

She stared at him with those old, dark eyes, and on impulse he leaned forward and rested his hand on her hair, stroking it softly. It was a gesture without all tension, as if she was his sister and he comforting her, and something in her face broke as she closed her eyes and leaned into the touch.

"Nobody ever…" she whispered, and she didn't have to finish the sentence for him to understand.

"Sleep, Sarah," he encouraged her quietly, his hand still resting on her forehead. "I'll keep you safe."

* * *

A/N: Another hard one to write. I seem to produce too many of them. And just to make this very clear: I'm a hundred percent with Chris concerning the evaluation of Wyatt's deeds. Sarah may appear to relativise Wyatt's actions, but I understand that as the only way she could possibly hope to handle it, not as the right way of seeing things.

The next chapter will have final battle preparations, a meeting with a Charmed One and Piper's pov again (or so I think. My muse doesn't always adhere to my plans).

Review, please!


	34. Navigating the InBetween

A/N: Hi, everybody! I'm finally back with a new chapter an apologize for the long wait.

It's just that my life kind of imploded to months ago and things have been really, really bad since then. I hope I'm back on track now, and I hope that I'll be able to bring you the climax and resolution of this story in a reasonably short time, but don't consider that as a promise – I seriously don't know how and where I'll be tomorrow.

That said, I hope you like this chapter, the last one before the two-chapter long fight against Gideon!

* * *

**Navigating the In-Between**

And then they were ready to go for Gideon. It was exhilarating and frightening at the same time, and Chris wondered for a moment what made this battle feel so different from the hundreds of hundreds before them.

But then he realized. If their plan worked, then this would not just be another battle.

It would be the last.

Thanks to Sarah's supply rounds over his first week of exile, Chris was well equipped for the fight, but most of Sarah's gear was still over at the Manor, and so they agreed she would orb directly into the cellar and gather everything she needed before coming back here.

Holding the wards of the Manor like she was had its perks, after all. Not only could he keep his family safely on mute, knowing that Sarah would feel an invasion immediately, she could also enter the house without anyone being alerted.

Or so they hoped.

"You know, I used to dream of this moment," he told Sarah when they were sitting at the weapons table, giving his triquetras a thorough cleaning and coating with vanquishing potions. "The hours before finishing all this. Never the moment itself, as if even my subconscious couldn't really imagine it, and never the time after. Just this moment."

He shook his head, laughing softly.

Sarah didn't answer. Her behaviour hadn't been changed the next morning after her breakdown and confession, not in the slightest, but now she was looking exceedingly nervous, sitting quietly opposite him, her mouth working as if she was rehearsing something.

"So I guess I should swear fealty to you again, now," she finally said in a rush.

Chris just looked at her in gobsmacked surprise.

"No," he disagreed most strongly. "You really, really shouldn't."

Something like hurt crossed her face.

"But I thought you wanted my help in all this? How can we work together if I can't use my magic? I need…"

"Of course you can use your magic," Chris interrupted, still not seeing the point of all this. "You don't need an oath to do that."

Now _she _stared at him, gobsmacked.

"But… but you said I am a killer, and you can't trust that I will do the right thing!"

Chris sighed. So _that_ was what this was all about.

"If this last week has shown anything, Sarah," he said calmly. "It's that I can't predict what circumstances we'll face. You made the right choice when you broke the oath, and I do trust you to make the right choices again."

There. He'd never thought he'd say it. He trusted Hand. But no, that wasn't right. It was Sarah he'd turn his back to without worry, Sarah he'd rely on blindly, Sarah he'd trust his life with. Hand was just a mask, a role she'd slipped into by necessity, just like Fox had been.

The realization was freeing to him. But Sarah didn't look happy at all.

"Are you sure?" She asked quietly. "We could alter the oath, give me more freedom…"

"No!" Chris protested. "I don't think it's necessary, and I really don't want that, Sarah. You do not have to serve me! I don't want you to be my slave or my servant, I want you as my comrade and my friend. We can never be that if a word from me can shut you down."

Still, she didn't look happy.

"What if I mess up?" She asked.

He shrugged. "Then you mess up. We all do. I can't even count the times I made a mess of things. It's part of being human."

She stared at him with an intensity that confused him.

"I'm not very good at being human," she confessed quietly.

And he finally understood.

"Are you afraid of what you might do?" He asked. "Is that what this is about? Not that _I_ don't trust you, but that you don't trust yourself?"

She hesitated, as if this was a secret she'd held close to her heart for a long time. Then, she nodded. He could have laughed, had she not been so completely serious.

"But that's nonsense, Sarah! I mean, look at what you've done! You've had the worst start imaginable, damn it, you've been compelled by magic to do what Wyatt said, and still you managed to sneak information to Bianca. You knew it would kill you, and still you broke an oath, not once, but twice, because you decided what needed to be done. And both times, it was the right decision! You are too ready to kill, sure, too violent, but most people would say the same about me, and yet you'd trust my judgment. But your impulses are right, Sarah, and that's what counts."

She still didn't look quite convinced.

"Will you promise to stop me, then?" She asked. "If…"

"I'll stop you if you'll stop me," he agreed, and somehow it felt like an oath as important as the one she'd proposed. "We'll help each other navigate the in-between of moral relativism, yes?"

* * *

Sarah's emotions were churning and twisting, turning her belly into a minor war zone.

This freedom-thing was much more difficult than she'd expected. Was everyone as confused as she was right now, and on a daily basis?

She felt proud that Chris trusted her, afraid that she'd fail him, was happy that he considered her a friend and excited about the battle to come. Most of all, though, she worried that she'd meet one of the Manor's inhabitants, that there would be words, that she would lose control and accidentally kill Chris' relatives.

It _could_ happen.

People died so easily, and she'd never before had full control over her own powers.

Now that she thought about it – why weren't more people killed? There were quarrels and conflicts and fights every day, after all. Killing someone could happen to anybody, right?

So she was rather tense when she shimmered into the Manor's cellar, and when she saw someone sitting on her old cot, she very nearly loosened a knife. She felt especially bad about that when the sitting figure turned out to be Phoebe. Killing the only sister that hadn't made a complete mess of things wasn't exactly a clever move.

"Phoebe," she said a bit stupidly, not at all sure where she stood with the other woman, therefore opting for careful distance.

So it was a bit of a shock when Phoebe saw her, smiled the biggest smile Sarah had ever seen, jumped to her feet, rushed over, and engulfed Sarah in a hug of epic proportions.

"Thank you, thank you, _thank you_ for saving him!" The Charmed One whispered.

Sarah didn't know how to react to that, not to the unexpected close contact nor to the gratitude.

"Er… you're welcome?" She tried, and got hugged even closer. This wouldn't do.

"How did you know I would come here?" She next tried, wondering whether the resourceful Charmed Ones had found a way to hack into her wards. Thankfully, Phoebe finally let go of her.

"Actually, I didn't," she confessed. "I've been spending most of my time down here, hoping you'd come."

That seemed to Sarah a frightfully inefficient way of spending your time, but she was careful not to mention that in case it would bring on another bout of hugging.

"And _why_ were you doing that?" She asked instead, carefully stepping back and out of reach. She let her eyes dart across the room in search for her equipment, only to find it laid out neatly on a table below the high window. That was handy. She could gather it up in her arms and shimmer out of here in about five seconds.

"To thank you," Phoebe whispered, her hands twitching as if she wanted to hug someone again. "And… Can you take me to him, Hand? Please? He needs to know that we love him, and I need to explain…"

She trailed off, her eyes very wide and very hopeful.

Some of the embarrassed confusion vanished from Sarah's mind. She hadn't had forgotten about the Charmed Ones' behaviour, not for a second, but Phoebe's exuberance made it hard to concentrate on more than the moment.

And now Sarah could see her distress, her honest, deeply felt wish to see Chris, and was surprised at her own impulse to help Phoebe. But there were other things to consider.

"No," she therefore said. "I wouldn't do that without asking him first, and now's not the time for it, Phoebe."

The woman _visibly_ deflated. It should have looked ridiculous, not endearing, but somehow Phoebe pulled it off.

„Butt he longer we wait, the harder all this will be," she now argued. "Things will only get more difficult. And he… he must feel so terrible…"

"Yes," Sarah agreed, trying to ignore the tears that were welling up in Phoebe's eyes. "He does. But there is too much going on right now to let him get distracted. We…" she hesitated.

This wasn't a possibility she had talked about with Chris, and he would perhaps disagree with her decision. But didn't Phoebe at least deserve to know what was going on? And more than that, didn't Chris deserve to have his family know, in case things went very wrong and he could never tell them? Perhaps this was one of the decisions Chris had been talking about.

"We are going after Gideon," she continued. "Today. Our plan has a good chance of working, but Chris must be able to concentrate. He cannot afford to deal with you right now."

Now Phoebe's eyes went wide with worry, and this emotional roller-coaster was really starting to weird Sarah out.

"But you can't!" The Charmed One protested. "Not alone! I admit that we weren't that helpful the last time, but we would do better now! You said yourself that Gideon is too dangerous to take on alone!"

"He's not alone," Sarah corrected, projecting more calmness than she felt. "And our plan kind of depends on it being just the two of us."

For a moment, Phoebe looked ready to argue. Sarah had seen her argue, and she didn't look forward to it. But she was sure of herself. At the moment, Chris' emotions were under control, though he was badly shaken. He had a mission, and that gave him purpose for the moment, but she honestly didn't want to know what would happen when that purpose broke. Things would get ugly, and leave him a mess, and he would never forgive himself if he didn't deal with Gideon before concentrating on his family.

If he ever wanted to concentrate on his family again, of course. Sarah wouldn't blame him if he simply upped and disappeared on them.

Then, without saying a single word, Phoebe backed down. Walking over to the cot, she nodded tiredly and sat down as if she didn't have the strength left to stand.

"I'm sure you know best," she whispered. "And, anyway, we kind of blew our right to have any say in this months ago, didn't we?"

Sarah thought about agreeing with her, then decided that it wouldn't make Phoebe feel any better.

"I'll keep him safe," she offered instead, knowing that it wasn't enough but having nothing else to offer.

Surprisingly, it seemed to console Phoebe.

"I know," she said. "And I'm really glad you're with him. He deserves someone like you at his side. It's just… I wish he didn't have to do this."

"But he has," Sarah answered, confused. What was it with all the wishing that things were different? She had noticed it with the Charmed Ones before, and it had always made her wonder. How could it be useful to ignore reality instead of what they wanted it to be?

"Yes, I know," Phoebe said tiredly. "I get that now. He _has_ to do it. There's no alternative. I never really understood that before."

"I noticed," Sarah said simply, not sure where all this was going, but Phoebe didn't really need her input now, off as she was on another self-analysis trip.

"I mean, I always thought it was his character, this driven, neurotic, obsessive way of tackling things, and I always thought that he fixated on this mission because he needed something like that in his life. But now I understand that he never chose it, that he was dropped into it before he was even born. He never _decided_ to be this person, it just happened to him. He never had a chance to be someone else."

Sarah thought about her own past, made up not of decisions but of commands, and she thought about Chris' face, twisted and torn from his nightmares_. __I want to be more than just another Halliwell!_

"That's not true," she disagreed. "He could have broken. He could have given in. He could have accepted that he was weaker than Lord Wyatt. He could have put family over principle and stayed at his brother's side. Instead, he made the Resistance his life. He never had a choice to be involved, to be a Halliwell, but it was _he_ who turned himself into Fox, who chose this mission as the thing he would die for willingly."

And that, Sarah realied as she listened to her own words, was the thing that had drawn her to Chris Halliwell, that had made _her_ choose his side instead of the central position Lord Wyatt had given to her.

Fox had had all that power, all that destiny and strength, and he had willingly embraced the weaker position. In Sarah's life, there had only ever been the power struggle of dominance, the desperate climb over other's futures to the highest position, because you could only be safe if you kicked those below you further down.

And Fox had _joined_ those below. He had taken his power and usedit, not to gain more power, but to protect, to change, to nurture. It was a concept she hadn't understood for a long time, wasn't sure she understood it now, but something in her yearned for that way like the dry, gaping earth yearned for rain.

By making that choice and damning himself to pain, fear, and the eternal fight against an enemy he could never hope to deceive, Fox had opened up a choice for all of them. He had left the path his family had formed for him and had become a new way, all on his own. It was a decision that frightened Sarah as much as it awed her.

But Phoebe only felt the pain of that choice.

"It's not right," she now said softly. "Nobody should have to _choose_ to die for something. Nobody should have to put a mission before everything!"

Sarah just shrugged.

"He's not nobody," she said. "He's Chris."

And for the first time since she'd come to this time, for the first time since she'd started talking to the woman, Phoebe completely understood what she meant.

* * *

A/N: Thank you for all your support and reviews, dearest readers. Greedy as I am, I wouldn't mind some more!

The next chapter will have Piper's pov again (didn't manage that in this one), as well as a confrontation with Gideon that will put our heroes in mortal danger (Dum Dum Dum…)…


	35. Trust and Betrayal

**Trust and Betrayal**

Piper's hands were steady as she straightened the tablecloth, rearranged the flowers, adjusted the shining glassware.

She didn't really feel like eating – none of them did -, but these gestures of normality helped calm her, gave her an order and structure she'd been missing these past months, and, who knew, perhaps he'd come home…

She wanted to flinch away from that thought, but the same determination that had carried her through the housework kept her strong now, and she forced herself to examine the idea.

Would he ever come home again? Could she even claim this place as his home after what she'd done to him?

For the thousandth time since yesterday, she clamped down on the impulse to rush out of the house and go searching for him. Where should she go? He was most likely in the Underworld, hunting for Gideon, and even if he had settled somewhere in San Francisco, as Hand… Sarah… had predicted to Phoebe, how could she ever find a place that would most likely be warded perfectly?

Besides, she had no right to rush after him, no right to impose herself on him and demand that she could explain… apologize… anything, really. She had no right at all.

Again, her thoughts darted across the memories of the past year, spread out in her mind like a cupboard full of ugly clothes, and again she wanted to flinch back. Now that she had seen it, had understood and accepted it, she couldn't believe that she'd been so blind.

"A thousand signs," she whispered absently, then turning her attention to the curtains. She would have to take them down soon, clean them thoroughly, perhaps even choose a new colour scheme for the living room. Children were even harder on the furniture than demons, and with a second one on the way…

As it had so many times these past days, her hand snaked out of its own accord and protectively covered her belly. She couldn't feel him, yet, didn't even notice the usual signs of early pregnancy, but the knowledge of his existence changed everything.

"What am I going to do?" She asked, but it was a rhetorical question. She had done more than enough, already, and, bleak as it was, her path lay before her in painful clarity.

She could do nothing. She would do nothing. Just wait here, in his home, with open arms, for the day when he decided to come back. She would not rush out, would not let her emotions take over. She would wait for him, and carry her guilt close to her heart, and protect his unborn past and future with her life.

Not thinking had gotten her into this whole damn mess. Only thinking would get her out of it.

Once more she straightened the tablecloth, then walked over to the kitchen to check the process of her lasagna. She moved slowly, steadily, refusing to let the nervous energy that was thrumming through her take over.

She chose the dinner plates carefully, as if the six – three for the sisters, one for Leo, two for Chris and Sarah, even if they would never come… - white porcelain circles were at all different from the rest, and she polished the cutlery before arranging it on the table.

"Steady…", she murmured to herself. "Think about what you do, Piper…"

Then the sound of orbs filled the house, and the plate in her hand fell to the floor, shattering. Her heart beat wildly in her throat, and both hands cupped her belly, holding the spark of him close.

But it was only Leo.

She wanted to turn back to her tasks, ignoring him and pretty much everything else as she had been doing the past days. But something in his face gave her pause.

She wasn't sure about this new Leo, this broken, devastated, desperate man that had collapsed after the news and never really got up again. A child was supposed to bind two people together as close as it was humanly possible, as close as Wyatt had brought them to each other. But Chris, their second, wonderful, terrible child, had torn them apart, and they had been eyeing each other across the room as if they were strangers.

He still looked like a stranger. But he looked also alive, filled with a wild, frenzied panic that was a very different thing from the muted pain of the last days.

"What happened?" She asked, her own voice foreign to her in its forced calm. She wouldn't stop thinking. She wouldn't rush about and let emotion take over. She would never again say something she hadn't thought about carefully. "What happened Up There?"

Called by the sound, her sisters could now be heard, rushing down the stairs, reaching the origin of the orbs with the speed of hope. They visibly sagged when they saw the visitor was only Leo, but they, too, recognized the expression on his face as something new.

"Leo?" Phoebe asked, her voice tentative, and whether he had waited for them all to gather, or whether it had taken a second voice to wake him, Leo gave a start. His hand rose to his head and he ruffled his hair in a gesture of silent frustration.

"The Elders called me to give me the news," he began, his voice raw and strangely flat. "They… they found Gideon. Down in the Underworld. Dead. Surrounded by destruction and several bodies that couldn't be identified. Chris'…"

He took a deep, rasping breath, and his hands tightened in his hair, tugging on it in a way that had to be painful.

"Chris' blood was all over the floor."

_No_, she thought_. No!_

And then forbade herself to rush about and jump to conclusions. She had done that too many times the past year.

"… his body…" she whispered, unable to properly start or finish the sentence.

Leo's head snapped over to her, his eyes meeting hers in a flash of emotions and memories and fears. But his voice was just as flat, and her heart beat just as wildly as he answered.

"No sign of him, Piper. They don't know where he is, or if he's even alive. They just don't know."

* * *

The dreary tunnel systems of the Underworld were, as most humans, witches and even demons would agree, a creepy place to be alone in. They made you feel small, and insignificant, and above all vulnerable.

Hand strode through them as if she owned the place, the heels of her boots clicking aggressively on the wet stones.

The bundle she dragged behind her would have been much too heavy for a normal girl her size, but with her returned magic humming and buzzing under her skin, Hand barely felt the weight.

It was drowned by the triumphant singing in her heart, the satisfaction of a hunter close to striking her prey, and above all, the blood lust that was coursing through her veins.

She had been Sarah for weeks now, struggling with a world that was foreign to her, with strange people and their demands, with morals and questions and insecurities that had never been part of her existence before.

Now she was Hand again. More than human and less than human, less than a soldier and more than a killer.

And in a way it was glorious.

_(„Do you understand what I want you to become?"_ Lord Wyatt had asked her one hot, endless summer afternoon when she'd been seventeen and his slave for nearly two years. _„Do you even have an idea what the future at my side will hold for you?"_

_She looked up at him silently, at her LordTyrantMonsterBenefactor, the man she hated most in all the world and the man she desperately wanted to be loved by._

_Months of pain had taught her never to lie to him. _

„_A killer," she answered, quietly and honestly, and quickly ducked her head when she saw irritation flash in his eyes. _

„_That is a stupid answer," he said curtly, and her muscles tensed in preparation. But no punishment followed. So he was feeling merciful today. _

"_You have been a killer since you were born, we both know that," he continued. "It is your destiny. But I will make you more than that. Much more."_

_Her thoughts flashed to the things he had shown her and taught her, the things he had made her do and the things he had done to her in the twilight of his bedroom, and she shuddered. _

_As if he had read her mind (and why shouldn't he have? He was _Lord Wyatt_, after all), her Master chuckled. Strong, powerful hand found her face, tilted it upwards, forced her eyes to meet his. _

"_You will become Fear," he whispered. "Power. Glory. The Hand that reaches out in the night. The Fist that crushes my enemies. They will weep with pain, but you will walk past, uncaring, heeding only my commands. You will be a nightmare, a tale parents whisper to their children, a name that is not spoken."_

_Silently, she trembled in his grasp. But she was also listening, his powerful words spinning her future and drawing her in, her body arching towards him like the moon drew the waves. _

_He laughed. _

"_I will make you mine. And you will make the world cry out in fear.") _

So she was not frightened of the demons suddenly surrounding her. It was they who should be frightened

She was not frightened of the wards engulfing her. No wards could contain her.

And she was not frightened of the Elder Gideon, when she came to stand before him. He was powerful, but she had been the Hand and Fist of the most powerful being ever in existence, and the Elder paled against him.

So she was not frightened.

Instead, she smiled.

"Gideon," she said. Nothing else.

And the Elder, despite all caution and hate, was fascinated. He leaned forward in his throne like chair, his head resting on one fist, a parody of a king, and a hundred emotions flickered across his face. She wanted to smile again.

"Tell me why I shouldn't kill you right now," he demanded.

She shrugged.

"Why didn't you, yet?" She asked, and he was even more intrigued.

(They liked to play games, those powerful ones. They liked toys that were complicated and mysterious, liked to unravel them, break them, and only then throw them away. As long as she wasn't boring, she would be safe.)

"Tell me then," he tried again. "Why did you come?"

She gathered her thoughts carefully, wiping out the corners of her mind so that all he could see would be shiny and true.

"Because you are right," she said. "You are doing what is necessary; you're the only one that sees the truth."

Triumph blazed in his face, the heat of righteousness warming his cold heart.

"You were with my enemies, before," he objected.

"They were the first enemies of Lord Wyatt that I found, when I came to the past," she said, revealing everything she wanted to, while allowing him the satisfaction of building his own conclusions.

"I am from the future, like Chris," she added, a heartbeat after he had understood it by himself. "I came to fight the monster that you are trying to kill, and I thought that Chris Perry was the best man for the job. I was wrong."

And, oh, Gideon was enjoying this. His voice crooned with pleasure, and his eyes shone with victory.

"But Chris Perry is working so hard to save little Wyatt," he whispered, smirked, mocked.

"Chris Perry doesn't understand," she answered, in the simple way Lord Wyatt talked, the one that spelled truth and would suffer no contradiction. "He does not know that being good often means being hard. Evil has many ways, dark and nebulous and without a clear path, but good must be true and without mercy in its clarity, like a diamond. Diamonds have no place for shadows."

"And Chris Perry would not agree?" Gideon asked mockingly. "I have heard Leo complain about his ruthlessness."

"Chris Perry, despite all his experiences, is still a whitelighter at heart." She smiled, thin-lipped and hard. "I, on the other hand, am a killer, Gideon. I have always been a killer. It's in my nature."

Gideon chuckled. It was the high, cold chuckle of a man that would only ever see himself and be endlessly amused by what he perceived as reality.

"Another pact with another devil," he mused. "Why not. But tell me, _killer_, why should I trust you. What reason can you give me to not consider this another ruse by the Charmed Ones?"

Hand let go of the bundle by her side, kicking it forward, and used her magic to unfold the cloth it was wrapped in.

"The reason is simple," she said into the absolute silence of the Underworld's caves. "You can trust me because I bring you Chris Perry, the Charmed One's whitelighter, bound and powerless."

And Gideon, staring down at his enemy's helpless form, chained and stripped of both dignity and magic, down at Chris who stared up at him with impotent hatred in his eyes, slowly began to laugh.

* * *

A/N: Review, please! I'm already working on the next part…


	36. To Set It Right

**To Set it Right**

When Chris had read _Hamlet_ for the first time, it had been after the urging of an ambitious English teacher. He had been thirteen, far too young for Shakespeare if he believed the more conservative teachers of his school, or just the right age if one believed Mrs Miller, the new star of the English classes.

Chris had always been a clever little boy (his brother used to call him _Braniac_, but he still came to him when he needed help with his homework), and as he lay on his bed in his room in the Manor, a large, friendly room with white curtains and unusually many bookcases for a boy, he thought he understood what the play was about.

He thought he could relate to Hamlet – the ever present shadow of an absent but powerful father, the doubt and mistrust gnawing at his insides and no one else would understand or even take the time to listen.

He appreciated the language and the cleverness, the sword fights and the long, complicated words he could use to infuriate his twice-blessed but not twice-intelligent brother.

But on the whole, it was just an old play.

Chris read _Hamlet_ for the second time in a dusty cellar room full of wounded and dying men, after yet another scouting expedition gone wrong. They had taken cover in an old high school that had been partly burned down by Wyatt's dragons in the very first wave of attacks against mortals, and while their situation seemed desperate, there was nothing to do but wait for reinforcements and hope for the best.

He had flipped through the pages slowly, cherishing the book not so much for its content but for its sheer presence - the only thing of learning and beauty left in the ruined school building, an echo that reminded him of his old life and all the things he had taken for granted before they were, suddenly, gone forever.

This time, _Hamlet's _dilemma had made him angry. How could that man dither and wonder and spent hundreds of lines agonizing while his kingdom fell to the dogs? Wasn't it his duty to _do_ something?

And yet, the thought of cutting through the knot, of doing what had to be done and kill his own uncle had repelled Chris just as much as it frightened Hamlet (for even back then, shortly after Chris' seventeenth birthday, with the world gone to ruin around him and all his family dead, he had known what it all would lead to, that in the end there would be only he standing between Wyatt and the world, and that he would, in the end, decide the same way Hamlet had, and take arms against a sea of troubles, even if that trouble turned out to be the brother he loved and the sea to be made of blood).

But then his eyes had fallen on a specific quote, and he had started laughing and laughing, unable to stop until other Resistance members crowded around him with worry in their eyes, no doubt wondering if the madness had finally taken hold of him.

He wasn't sure whether the plan had been growing in his mind before that moment, whether the lines had spoken to him and been answered by the sudden realization of what he must do, or whether all that had happened had been Shakespeare's fault, in the end.

But the connection soothed him, and it suited him. Bianca, who had never read or seen a play in her life, had even called him 'Prince of Denmark' in her more playful moods, and whenever his doubts grew too strong, he would murmur the lines, to calm himself, to remind himself:

"The time is out of joint: O cursed spite, / That ever I was born to set it right!"

He couldn't help it, the sheer irony of it made him chuckle darkly even now.

And to think that he wasn't even the heir to the throne, for that role had always been firmly allocated to Wyatt. Chris, on the other hand, was just an "attendant Lord", one who should have stayed in the background instead of trying to save the world.

Yeah. Fate really had it in for him.

And now this. Lying helplessly in front of two of his greatest enemies from present and future, bound by magical ropes, his powers stripped from him by Hand. Closer to his ultimate goal than he'd ever been in his life, and yet utterly unable to even move a hand.

Up there, in the hidden place where all their destinies were decided, someone had to be snickering wildly over this.

It should have felt wrong. Ridiculous. Insane even. But all Chris could feel as Gideon and Hand looked down at him was a strange, serene calm, as if all the threads of his life had led to this one moment, had coalesced and been woven together into the tapestry of this day.

Perhaps he would die today. But perhaps that wouldn't be so bad.

At a gesture from Gideon, one of his bodyguard-demons stepped forward, checking Chris' bonds, then placing a hand on his chest. Chris struggled in vain, and the demon merely grunted, shook his head, and stepped back into rank.

"You've taken his powers," Gideon noted, talking about him as if he was a misbehaved pet. "How did you do this?"

Hand shrugged. She was far better at condescension than Gideon could ever be, but Gideon was far better at delusions of grandeur.

"You never learnt what my powers were, did you?" She asked, and Gideon immediately drew the wrong conclusions.

"Very useful," he said, missing the point altogether. "So you work like a Phoenix. Why did you not kill him?"

Hand smirked.

"Would you have wanted me to?" She asked back, and every Resistance fighter of the future would have known that something was very wrong.

Hand was not playful. She did not answer questions with questions. She was blunt, and cruel, and pure, unadulterated overkill. If she played with you, it was not like a cat playing with a mouse, enjoying the catch before killing it. It was because your capture was merely part of the plan, and the best was yet to come. But Gideon did not know that.

He shrugged.

"I would have liked to know more about his future," he offered. "But now that you are here, your knowledge will be more than adequate."

"You assume that I will be willing to give you information, and for free," Hand stated, raising an eyebrow. "How… confident of you."

This time it was Gideon who smirked and spread his arms wide.

"Am I wrong to be so confident, my young… partner?" He asked, as charming as only an Elder could be.

Chris felt anger boiling under his skin, nearly burning away the last vestiges of his self control. This man would destroy his future, he would cause uncountable deaths, immeasurable pain, and here he sat, congratulating himself on his own cleverness.

Couldn't he see that the woman standing before him was more dangerous than any Elder, that she was an embodiment of the very future he wanted to stop? Couldn't he see that this deal with the devil would mean his end?

But Chris was not foolish enough to speak. Too many things hung in the balance right now, and a single comment could have everything spinning even further out of control. So he forced himself to remain quiet, and concentrate on the cruel, amused face of Hand.

"Partner," she mused, purring the word like a caress. "That is much honour, Gideon. However did I earn it?"

Gideon leaned forward, his face twisted by shadows and light.

"Oh, but did you not prove yourself as a formidable fighter, albeit _against_ my servants?" He asked with a voice like honey. "Did you not bring an enemy to lie helpless before my feet? And do you not know exactly how to enter the Manor without the sisters being aware of it? Can you not deliver the child to me without further conflict?"

"That I can," Hand agreed, then looked down at Chris, her eyes dark and cold like stone. "And that I did," she whispered.

"Then tell me," Gideon demanded again. "What will the boy do? What will I prevent?"

Hand half turned to the demons that surrounded Gideon's dais like a silent army, just looking at them long enough to alert them and make Gideon more aware of them in turn.

"That _boy_," she then said in a very clear voice that carried her words to the corners of the cave. "Will grow up to usher in the age of demons."

From his prone position on the floor, Chris could see the demons stirring. A few of the more intelligent ones were frowning, others had started whispering. He turned his eyes to Gideon and saw thoughts flashing across his face.

"He will free magic from the secrecy we all have to live with," Hand continued. "Demons will walk the world above, and humans will bow to them. If we don't kill him, he'll…"

"Enough," Gideon interrupted her hastily, then leaned over to one of his bodyguards, whispering something to the warlock. Without a word, the man left his master's side and started ushering the demons out of the cave. Some of them were hesitating, but they left, and when the warlock returned to Gideon, only the main force of demons surrounding Gideon remained, no more than twenty fighters.

Chris nodded bitterly to himself. So they'd been right. Most of Gideon's followers hadn't been informed of his plans, and the Elder was anxious that facts about this possible future wouldn't spread. By dropping hints, Hand had cleared the cave without a fight.

Not that this was any help to Chris as long as he was bound and stripped of his powers.

He growled deep in his throat, no other outlet available to his anger, and in answer Hand's boot hit him right under the ribs, kicking him hard enough that he was skidding across the floor. He felt the soft skin of his lower arms burn from rubbing against rough stone, and then blood was trickling from his wounds, coating his sweater and the dirty ground.

He groaned with the pain. His body was now twisted in a highly uncomfortable position, his legs and upper body bent enough so that he could easily touch his own boots with his hands. He would grow stiff if he had to lie like this for very long.

"Careful now," Gideon mildly scolded Hand, as if she had tripped over a stone or broken a plate. "That could have cracked his ribs or even pierced his lungs. We do not want to cause unnecessary deaths, my girl."

She snorted angrily, and Chris very carefully watched her face as he tried to move his hands and change his position without Gideon noticing.

"He has been in the past for months," she now said, her eyes fixed on Gideon. "And he has done nothing but cater to the sisters' carelessness. He could have killed the boy a hundred times, but instead he wasted his time with minor demons and imagined threats. He is as responsible as the sisters are, and he is not as valuable."

"At least I tried to _set it right_," Chris said angrily, and earned another kick from Hand for the comment. This time, his body slithered away from Gideon, scraping over the rocks and landing him half on his side, with his back to the demons and the Elder.

Gideon tut-tutted in mock-criticism.

"No more of that," he scolded again. "He might still prove useful to us."

Hand chuckled. She moved closer to Gideon, until she could almost touch him, and he gestured for his bodyguards to part way in front of him. He was trusting her now, believing in his own ability to judge characters, and probably also in his own charisma that would draw her to him. He had no idea how slippery Hand was, and how very dangerous.

"How could you possibly need a scrawny whitelighter, Gideon?" She now asked. "You, who are so much more powerful than any of his kind. With me at your back, you can crush the Charmed Ones and take the boy by force, no matter who stands against you."

She leaned forward, as if enthralled, and rested a hand on his chest.

"Now is the time for action," she said. "Now!"

And Chris, who had recognized the code word, used the knife formerly hidden in his boots to snap the last strands of his bindings, reached into the never-ending pocket of his sweater and _snapped_ the bracers back into place.

He was on his feet and killing before the demons had time to even notice.

Gideon snarled in anger and swiped his arm out, trying to hurl both of them away from him, but before his power could reach Hand, who was standing so very close to him, she had slammed her elbow into his face, breaking his nose with an awful, crunching sound.

Still the force of his attack was strong enough to send both of them flying, but they had expected nothing less from him and therefore prepared for the impact.

Finding himself in the presence of two powerful enemies and with most of his bodyguard dead, Gideon decided to do the only sensible thing. He orbed away.

And nothing happened.

He snarled with anger and tried again, unable to believe that the most basic power any Elder and Whitelighter possessed was no longer under his control.

Hand chuckled, a sound as cold and amused as Gideon had only ever tried to be.

"I really didn't expect you would let yourself be touched by me," she commented easily. "You're even more stupid than I thought, Elder."

"What did you do to me?" Gideon shouted, again trying to orb and again failing. "How could you possibly…"

"Why do you think she wasted her time talking to you for so long?" Chris asked, climbing to his feet with just a hint of discomfort.

The two kicks had been part of their plan, both as the necessary physical contact to transfer his powers back to him and as a way to coordinate their attacks, but they had still been rather uncomfortable.

"She unravelled your body wards while you were strutting about like a peacock. And now she's taken your orbing, your bodyguards are dead, and I activated wards that won't let any demons re-enter the cave. Any comments on the situation?"

Gideon roared in anger, and only as blue lightning sizzled from his hands and sped towards Chris did he remember that provoking an Elder was never a good idea.

Too late now.

* * *

Lots of "Hamlet"-quotes in this one, dearest readers:

The main quote, "The time is out of joint: O cursed spite, / That ever I was born to set it right!" is from Act I, Scene V.

The "attendant Lord" refers to a line from "The Love Song of Alfred J. Prufrock" by T.S. Eliot (the same poem the title of this story was taken from):

„No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;

Am an attendant lord, one that will do

To swell a progress, start a scene or two,

Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,

Deferential, glad to be of use,

Politic, cautious, and meticulous;

Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;

At times, indeed, almost ridiculous -

Almost, at times, the Fool."

* * *

Reviews make me happy!

They also make me update faster, so if you want the latest cliffhanger resolved…


	37. The Death of A Righteous Man

**The Death of a Righteous Man**

A web of blue electricity raced towards him, and even as Chris threw himself to the ground, he knew that he wouldn't be fast enough. He had seen this power in action more than once, and it was not only quick but deadly. There was no way he could escape it for long.

He rolled over his shoulder and came back to his feet, already arching his body for a tk-assisted jump that would hopefully bring him out of Gideon's range, when he heard Sarah gasp.

He twisted his body around and saw two things: Sarah had fallen to her knees, her face white and twisted with pain. And Gideon's lightning had died somewhere between him and his intended victim.

Once more the Elder lashed out at him, but this time, nothing at all happened. Not a trickle of this specific power remained, and after a heartbeat of absolute, expressionless shock, Gideon's face finally showed that he understood.

With two of his major powers stolen from him, and no hope for backup, the Elder had turned from hunter to prey. It was no longer a question of winning for him, it was a question of getting out alive. And, clever and wily as Gideon was, it took him no time at all to adapt to the new situation.

He vanished.

Chris cursed.

"Sarah?" He called out, his hand already reaching into his never-ending sweater pocket.

"A moment," she shouted, her voice hoarse and so very tired. "He's got everything warded individually, damn him!"

Chris nodded grimly. Gideon had nothing to lose now, and a cornered enemy was always the most dangerous one. His eyes took in the distance between him and Gideon's last position. Even if the Elder sprinted, it would take him a few more seconds to reach Chris, enough time to prepare for…

Chris pointed the palm of his right hand towards the floor, then twisted his wrist upwards and straight, raising a sheet of dust and tiny stones from the ground. It stood between him and the rest of the cave like a curtain, for a heartbeat, Chris admired the view before sending the sheet of dirt careening through the cave.

Of course it didn't hit Gideon. That was not what Chris had hoped for. But it did show an unnaturally empty space where Gideon used his telekinesis to avoid the perceived attack, and that was all Chris had been waiting for, because his second attack, shielded and hidden by the curtain of stones, was right in place, and he aimed the glittering wall of liquid right at that empty space, twisting it here and there and coating everything in reach.

When the liquid had settled and the dirt had fallen back to the ground, Gideon was still invisible. But his telekinetic shields were clearly outlined by a glittering, glimmering potion that was specifically designed to search out magic and connect with it. Even if Gideon removed the shield and sent out another magical attack, it would be coloured by the potion and clearly visible to Chris.

Which still left him open to physical attacks, he thought grimly, once more chancing a look towards Sarah. She was still on her knees, trading energy balls with the remaining three demons. She looked close to collapsing, but she was the only one who could do this.

Chris saw a wave of shimmering magic speed towards him and easily sidestepped it, changing his angle and sending Gideon's magic off course. He countered with an attack of his own that hit Gideon's shields with an audible thud, then sent his triquetras towards the demons bothering Sarah. No reason to make her fight on two fronts.

He ducked under another magical attack, coming from much closer now, and absently wondered why Gideon was concentrating so exclusively on him, since it would make more sense for him to attack Sarah, who was right now busy at work unravelling his other wards. Did he know that she had barely any strength left? Or was it just anger dictating his movements?

Fearing the sudden silence and what it could mean, Chris began zig-zagging across the room. There wasn't much he could do against an enemy he couldn't see. He felt something in the air at his back and again threw himself to the ground, rolling away and coming back to his feet in a single, fluid move.

His left arm was hurting. He reached out to touch it while still running through the cave like a frightened rabbit, and his hand came back wet with blood. A knife? Chris seriously hoped it was a short-range weapon, because he wouldn't have a chance against someone with bow and arrows right now.

"Any minute now would be fine, Sarah," he yelled, hoping to divert Gideon's attention, then sent out another wave of telekinesis that did nothing but show him that Gideon had either countered the potion's effects or was out of reach. Brilliant.

And then Sarah moaned with pain, and suddenly, Gideon was visible again, standing about twenty feet away from both Chris and Sarah, a bloodied athame in his hand.

His face twisted with anger when he realized that he could be seen, and he immediately began chanting. Chris ground his teeth. If the Elder had time enough to engage older, more powerful magics, their fight would be over before Chris even had a chance. He could not compete with the immortal's power or knowledge. He could just interrupt his spellwork.

"The shield?" He yelled and Sarah, unable to hold herself upright after this last effort, grunted.

"Gone," she called out. "Just his tk now."

And Chris, having waited for just this moment to come, swept out both his arms in a gesture he had often practiced but rarely used, and sent his power towards Gideon, focused like a spear with a poisoned tip.

Gideon stopped chanting, _roared_ his anger and met Chris' attack head on.

Chris' legs buckled under the impact as power clashed against power, magic bit into magic and brought everything to a standstill.

Chris stared at the broiling, twisting mass of magic that spread between them, turning air into bubbling liquid and liquid into a vertical cyclone of power.

He had known that Elders were more powerful than whitelighters or witches, but only now, in the direct competition of strength, did he realize what that meant. Without the disorientation and pain Sarah's physical attack against Gideon had brought, Chris would have lost this fight in the first minute, and even now it took every ounce of strength he possessed, every bit of willpower and endurance he had developed over the past years to keep him standing.

And Gideon had not even broken into a sweat.

"Did you really think you could defeat me, Chris?" He asked, his soft, cultivated voice a mad contrast to the duel between them. "Did you honestly think you had a chance? Your lap dog stole my powers, it is true, but even with this single one I can defeat you easily. You will lose. Wyatt will die."

Chris yelled in pain and anger, and somewhere deep inside him he found the strength to retract a tiny slither of his magic from the roaring storm of conflict, just enough to set his secondary plan in motion…

From the other side of the cave, his triquetras rose like angry bees, swarming towards the Elder, eager to surround him and nip at his power. But instead of the anger or fear Chris had expected, Gideon just smirked.

Unbelievably, he simply detached one of his hands from directing his attack towards Chris, moved it to his side as if it was the easiest thing in the world, and merely _pointed _towards the triquetras.

They fell to the ground, birds with broken wings, and Chris could no longer feel them in his mind. Their connection to him was simply gone.

Chris yelled again, but this time there was a good deal of fear mixed in with his defiance. He didn't know how much longer he could last, but he was almost sure he wouldn't win.

All this effort for nothing. All the pain and worry and suffering. To flee from his own future, only to be defeated in the past.

Gideon had to realize Chris' thoughts, for his smirk widened into a cruel, dark smile.

"I think I will steal the child from under their noses," he mused. "And I will leave your head in its place. Just your head. They should know that you failed them, don't you think?"

Chris felt his legs give way under him. He dropped to one knee, then to the other. The muscles of his arms were screaming at him, knotted in tension, one huge, awful cramp, but he held them straight and unwavering, both hands splayed towards Gideon. It was the only thing keeping him and Sarah alive right now.

"They will kill you," he whispered, not enough strength in his body to shout the words in defiance. "They will kill you where I failed. You will never get to Wyatt."

Gideon smiled darkly.

"That is what you hope, Chris Perry, former whitelighter. But you will never find out. You will be dead long before this conflict is resolved, and I will make sure that your soul will wander the desert forever. You will never find peace."

"I don't _want_ peace," Chris pressed out between tightly clenched teeth. His hands were trembling so badly he was afraid the magic would simply slip away from him. "I want _you_ dead at my feet."

Gideon laughed. Again he detached his left hand from the stream of magic pulsing between them, and he used it to levitate a black piece of rock, larger than Chris' head.

_So this is how I'll die?_ Chris thought hopelessly. _After all I've survived? Bludgeoned by rock?_

Gideon raised his hand and the boulder rose into the air. He stroke out, giving it enough strength to hurl at Chris, and Chris _knew_ that he couldn't evade it, _knew _that he would be crushed by Gideon's magic the moment his attention wandered, _knew_ that he had only a choice _how_ to die, no longer if.

And then, stepping from the shadows, Sarah was there.

She crashed into the Elder's side with all the strength her thin body could muster, and Gideon, not having seen her coming, stumbled. He didn't fall, he didn't move his arms, but it was enough for his magic to falter, just for a second, enough for Chris' power to rip its way through Gideon's defences and, like an angry wave, engulf the Elder, lift him from his feet and _catapult_ him through the air.

Gideon shouted, a wordless cry of anger and denial, and his hands snapped forward to counter the attack.

It wasn't enough to stop Chris, and he felt triumph blaze in his mind, but then the Elder's power found another target.

Sarah was helpless against the onslaught of magic, all her power spent, and Chris caught the surprise and fear in her eyes before Gideon hurled her away, sent her flying through the air just as he was flying, and, with a last, evil spark of power, directed her helpless body towards a field of jagged, sharp-edged rocks that would kill the girl on impact.

And before Chris' eyes two scenes, one happening now and one in the past/future, melted into one. He saw Sarah's body, hurtling through the air towards her death, but he also saw Bianca, crashing to the floor of the attic, the jagged edge of a table leg impaling her chest.

Would every single person he had ever cared for die for him?

"NO!" He roared, lashing out his arm, feeling his muscles throb, feeling his magic rebel under his skin before following his command, and somehow, somehow…

He stopped her fall.

She slumped to the ground in a rather undignified heap, and every cell in his body screamed at him to get to her, check her for injuries, but he knew better than that, and once again the discipline of war held true.

Unsteady legs carried him to the other fallen figure, robed in rich black and white.

Gideon was still alive, though disoriented from a heavily bleeding head wound, and already his fingers were twitching in the rhythm of half remembered spells.

For one moment, Chris stood frozen. He could do the right thing, here, and call for Leo, and leave Gideon to the Elders. It was what the sisters would have done. It was a gesture worthy of the bright new, peaceful future ahead of them.

But Chris wasn't a creature of peace.

His face cold and unmoved, his eyes expressionless, he reached out with his magic. Stopping Gideon's heart.

And though he knew it was wrong, he also knew that he would never regret it.

He had killed Gideon.

He had freed himself.

His work was done.

* * *

Review, please! There are about five more chapters to go… And soon he will meet the family again…


	38. Of Freedom

**Of Freedom**

His progress across the cave was more a painful stumble than walking, but somehow, Chris made his way over to Sarah, collapsing to his knees by her prone body.

His hands trembled violently as he searched for her pulse, and when he found it, his heart actually stuttered and missed a beat. He'd been so sure she was dead. Quickly, he reached into his never-ending pocket and pulled out an all-purpose healing potion and antidote against most poisons, coating the worst of his wounds with it and carefully making Sarah swallow the rest. The Elders were devious, and, judging from the research they'd done, not above using poison or other questionable means when it suited them.

Sarah moaned when he massaged her throat, and once she'd swallowed, her eyes opened and found him.

"Are you all right?" He asked quickly, and couldn't suppress the slightly mad delight at having beaten her to it for once.

She coughed.

"Is he dead?" She asked.

"Yes. Yes, he is."

"Then I'm just fine," she answered, smiled at him and closed her eyes again.

Searching inside himself, he found his magic seriously depleted. There wasn't much he'd be able to do over the next few days, but leaving the Underworld as soon as possible was non-negotiable, and so he took her hand, holding it tightly, and orbed the both of them back to their apartment.

She didn't even open her eyes.

"Home?" She whispered as he levitated her to the sofa, and he chuckled.

"Yes," he said hoarsely. "Home. For now."

Sarah lay without moving a limb for several hours, and he wasn't sure if she was unconscious or just deeply asleep. He could feel the magic inside her flickering weakly, closer to being extinguished than he had ever seen a core, and so he just let her be, knowing that the best thing against magical exhaustion was calm and quiet.

He took a long shower, then fixed himself coffee and a sandwich and settled down at the kitchen table, too tired to think.

His mind kept replaying the image of Sarah, hurtling through the air, and of Bianca, the glistening wood protruding from her body. He thought about the moment when he had accepted his own death and about the feeling of stopping an immortal's heart, but he forced the sandwich down, knowing that he needed it badly.

Then, he took another shower.

He prowled through the apartment, for the first time wishing he'd chosen a larger place, unable to get rid of the nervous energy that had carried him through the last hours.

He felt strangely empty, blown wide open, all his walls and controls trembling under the onslaught of feelings he couldn't yet name. He was aware that he was on the edge of something, some great, terrible and beautiful change, and he was afraid of what that change in him would bring.

But one thing he knew. He wouldn't calm down till Sarah'd wake up and be okay.

And then, finally, she did. She rose to the surface of sleep with a gasp and a hand stretched out in defence against he knew not what. It took her a moment to register her surroundings and him, standing at the foot of the sofa, a towel half raised to his hair (his third shower, but he was feeling strangely dirty).

"Did I dream it?" She asked, and there were the same things hiding in her voice that filled his mind with fear.

"No," he answered simply. "He's dead. We did it."

She closed her eyes and exhaled slowly, her features softening as the tension slowly withdrew.

"In my dreams, Lord Wyatt told me that he would never let me go."

Chris nodded sharply.

"I know why I didn't even try to sleep," he said.

She climbed to her feet slowly, painfully, then limped over to him – he hadn't even noticed that she'd injured a leg – and rested one hand on his arm.

"Give me half an hour," she offered. "I need a hot shower and something to eat. Then, we'll go somewhere else."

Chris nodded slowly. His connection to reality still felt tender, malleable, and he was not surprised when Sarah returned half an hour later to find him standing in exactly the same position.

_Maybe this is shock_, he thought numbly. _But why is it setting in now?_

Sarah took one good look at him, then whispered a diagnostic spell, a small magic that was nevertheless nearly enough to use up all of her power. But the results seemed to satisfy her, for she nodded and once again took his hand.

"Come on," she said. "Orb us to a place that's beautiful, a place from where we can see the city."

A beautiful place? For a long, desperate moment, Chris couldn't think of anything that was beautiful, only of destruction, and fear, and rotting corpses sprawled among buildings in ruin. He thought about the garden where he'd proposed to Bianca, but that was a place of loss now, pain overshadowing the happiness he had felt there.

Then the thought of Golden Gate Bridge flashed into his mind. He orbed.

It was overwhelming at first, the sounds and the feeling of wind against his skin, the burning light of the sun shining down on them. He flinched, and his first impulse was to orb away again, but Sarah had let go of his hand, and she wasn't strong enough to travel on her own right now.

So he stayed, and, gradually, the touch of the wind turned into a carress, the burning of the sun into pleasant warmth, and the sounds and sights…

"It's beautiful," Sarah whispered at his side. "Look at it."

It _was _beautiful. Light was glittering on the water and the cars streaked across the bridge like flashes of light. Nothing special was happening in this version of the city, just a thousand nameless people going about their business, but that simple fact was breathtaking to Chris.

He glanced to his side and saw Sarah's face lit up with the same wonder. No one from their future could ever take this huge, purring, _functioning_ organism for granted. And no one from this present would ever have to realize how fragile their world was.

"Look at them," she whispered. "All those people. They are safe. And they will stay safe, because you _did_ it."

Chris felt his body shudder, as if a great weight had been removed from it. All those people. All those lives. And his city, his beautiful, chaotic city, spread out in front of him like a delicious dream, save from Wyatt's reign of terror.

"I…" he said, surprised at how broken he sounded, how young. "Is it really over?"

"Yes," she answered, leaving no room for doubt. "Can't you feel it?"

Once more he reached inside his own mind, past the exhaustion and shock, past the guilt and pain, and to his surprise, he found that he understood her. There was a feeling of peace nestled in the back of his consciousness, a certainty of achievement that had replaced the sense of urgency he had felt for so many years. Gears had shifted, paradigms had moved, and destinies had changed.

It was done.

Slowly, he lifted a hand to his face and found that he was crying.

"I knew I had to try," he whispered. "But I never really believed…"

"I did," Sarah said, her voice strong and true. "I believed you could do it, the moment I first set eyes on you."

"You first met me seconds before you kicked me in the stomach," he protested, and she had to chuckle at his outraged tone.

"Yes, but it was a kick of belief," she answered, smiling at him and at the long way they had come.

"You must be an exceptionally strong believer," he commented absently, and then, suddenly, he was sobbing and laughing, and it was impossible to distinguish between the two, mixed together as they were in a chaotic storm of feelings that took him completely by surprise.

He let go of himself, sliding to the floor until he lay flat, staring into the heavens, and she was sliding along with him, resting by his side on the small ledge of the bridge post.

"It's done," he whispered. "It's really done. And I'm still alive."

He wasn't at all sure how to feel about that.

* * *

Chris' outburst frightened Sarah at first. She had known Lord Wyatt's explosions of temper, she had seen countless prisoners snap and descend into madness, and she remembered her own dark hours of deepest depression.

But this was relief, and it was foreign to Sarah.

Chris was lying stretched out on the red metal of the ledge, no regard for his safety, and his face was more alive than she'd ever seen it.

"Did you see his face when you punched him?" He was asking, laughing hysterically as if it was the funniest thing in the world, and then, suddenly he was crying, both hands rising to cup his face and hide the wildness of his emotions.

"I'm sorry," he whispered and sobbed and tried to tell her earnestly. "It's… I can't help myself, I don't know what's going on…"

Again he laughed, frightened and confused and _unbearably_ happy, and she truly began to worry. Was this some magical after effect? A nervous breakdown? Or was it Chris' reaction to the new timeline that was spinning out in front of them, undoing their past and creating a new future? Should she do something?

"There's so much air," he whispered, bewildered. "So much room in the world, so many paths, and I never noticed it. Why didn't I notice?"

And suddenly she understood. Her mind flashed back to her second night in the past, when she had lain quietly on a cot in the sisters' cellar, staring into the darkness for hours, unable to believe that her curse, the _servilis_-spell, was gone for good, unable to understand the sensation of lightness that was filling her to the brim.

The thing he was feeling now, the thing she had been feeling then – it was freedom. A concept that hadn't played a role in both their lives for such a long time that they didn't really know what to do with it. A concept that was wonderful, but also scary.

She lay down by his side, mindful of the height and her inability to shimmer or flame, should she fall. But at the same time she was calm, knew deep in her bones that he wouldn't let anything happen to her.

Another new and rather frightening feeling: absolute trust in someone. She'd have to think about that, when there was time.

But for now, she just concentrated on the cold metal below her and on his face as he watched the sky as if for the very first time.

As afternoon turned into evening, she saw his eyes change. The stormy, defiant green she had become so used to seemed to calm, the colour lightening to the soft green of spring.

His fists, placed at his side, began to relax, and his fingers spread from where they'd been pressed to his palm like leaves unfurling. The ever-present frown on his forehead smoothed out, and something along his lips softened, as if his jaw had finally unclenched.

He looked younger, strangely carefree, and for the first time she believed that he could ever belong to this peaceful world.

The thought frightened her, because she knew that she never would, no matter how many futures he changed.

"You know," he suddenly said, his voice not quite steady. "I could simply orb away and, I don't know, spend the rest of my life hidden away, on a mountain, taking long walks on the beach, whatever, and it wouldn't matter."

He laughed at the ridiculousness of the idea, but there was also real longing in his voice.

"I could go anywhere I wanted, be anybody I ever wanted to be, hell, be a nobody, do _anything_!"

"Yes," she whispered. "You're free now."

He closed his eyes, looking more vulnerable than she'd ever seen him, then he opened them again and met hers, echoing her own disbelief at the idea. What did one do with freedom? What was left when the last battle was fought?

"What _will_ you do?" She asked.

Chris hesitated. His gaze was sweeping across the horizon, taking in the beauty of his city, the place that had gained a new future without ever knowing the danger it had been in, and she felt happiness seize her heart. She had given her freedom for this city, once. It was good to know that it would flourish and never fall under the shadow of Lord Wyatt.

"I don't know," he finally answered.

"Why not return to the future?" She asked, but what she wanted to say was: _You've earned it. A world that is whole, the family that loves you surrounding you, a chance to see and do all the things you missed the first time around. _

He just shrugged, but the tense line of his shoulders betrayed his unease.

"If I go back, my two selves will merge and I will retain the more dominant personality."

He grinned dryly. "Somehow, I'm pretty sure that will be this one. My future self _can't_ be as witty and sarcastic as I am."

She bumped his shoulder, amazed at the same time that she dared interact this way, and with Chris Halliwell.

"But I'm not sure," suddenly he was serious again, averting his face from her searching gaze. There was no use in it. She had studied him for weeks now, and knew him too well.

"If they'll want you, in the future?" She asked, voicing her own fear at the same time.

He shrugged again. "Something like that," he agreed. "And I don't know if I have the right to burden my other self with all the crap that's going on in my head. I mean, I'm not exactly well-adjusted to a normal life. I stopped going to school at fifteen, I never held a normal job in my life, and my only non-magical skills are a bit of hacking and a lot of war strategy. Undless I'd want to join the army…"

He trailed off.

"You know that's not how it's going to work," she offered. "Your other self will have skills and knowledge more fitted to that future."

_Whereas I'll still be a killer, and know nothing else,_ she thought, but she didn't say it aloud. This was his day, his victory.

He shrugged again.

"I have time to figure out what I want to do," he said. "And that'll be a first for me, too."

"You earned it, Chris."

"_We_ earned it," he corrected her, and bumped her shoulder in turn. "If you hadn't barrelled into Gideon like a freight train, I couldn't have gotten him."

She smiled.

"I really hope this will be the last Elder I'll have to kill," she said, only half joking. "They're a bunch of tenacious bigots, aren't they?"

Chris quietened, his eyes again searching the sky.

"I'll have to go tell them," he then said, out of nowhere. "They have a right to know."

Once again, his mood seemed to change. His brows lowered, his eyes darkened, and some of the tension returned to his wiry frame.

He didn't have to say what "they" he was talking about, and she didn't need to say that this was probably a bad idea right now. Meeting the Charmed Ones and his father rattled him at the best of times. Who knew what would come out of it, with his emotions so unbalanced and chaotic?

But this was a part of freedom too, wasn't it? To make choices that weren't clever or strategic or even sensible. To follow not a plan but one's own needs, regardless of the consequences.

"You don't have to do that, if you don't want to," she still offered. "I can go, or you can tell the Elders and let them inform your…" she didn't use the word family.

He was silent for a long time, his hands clenched in the hem of his shirt, an unusually insecure gesture for Chris.

"No," he finally said. "I'll do it myself. Will you come with me?"

It sounded strangely like a plea.

"Of course. If you're sure this is the best time," she replied immediately. She didn't add that she wanted to protect him, or that she really hoped Leo would misbehave so that she had an excuse to smash his face in, or that she believed quite fiercely that his family deserved nothing at all from him. She just nodded, and, noticing her still low levels of magic, reached out to grasp his hand once more.

He took it without hesitation, but still he waited and let his gaze once more sweep across the bay and the city, as if he wanted to treasure his achievement a moment longer.

"It won't get easier if I wait," he then said, squeezed her hand and climbed to his feet.

"Here's hoping Mom won't try to explode me," he murmured.

_And if she does, I'll just wait a little while longer before I try that peace-thing_, Sarah thought grimly, squeezed his hand back and dissolved into orbs alongside him.

* * *

A/N: I apologize for the long wait, dear readers. My life is starting to get under control again, and I hope I'll be able to update the rest of the story reasonably quickly.

One other question: What are your thoughts about a sequel? I've been playing around in my head with a plotline that would take place in the future and feature both changed!Wyatt and partly changed!Chris and Sarah. Are you at all interested in that, or shouldn't I bother?

Finally: Review, please! It'll make the updating progress so much faster…


	39. Of Love

**A/N**: Thank you all for your reviews and your warm welcome back! It seems that most of you would welcome a sequel, so I'll set my mind to work and see what happens.

To answer one question that cropped up in your comments: Several of you doubted that Chris would call Piper 'Mom' at the end of the last chapter. After dancing around in delight because you're all so very clever and I don't deserve such careful reviewers, I got to thinking about it, and my reasoning goes like this: Chris has clearly differentiated between his family and the Charmed Ones of the past mainly because he needs to keep functioning. We know from that in canon he loved his mother very, very much, and never really got over her death. So his relationship to her is conflicted, but very intense. I imagine that in a situation as emotional as that of the last chapter, the barriers he's constructed his mind to keep going might be breaking down, and if that happens, this Piper would get closer to his Piper. Which leads to more emotional drama, which leads to a happy and evil author, which leads to this chapter. I hope you'll enjoy it!

* * *

**Of Love**

For once, they were all gathered in one room when the sound of orbing reached them. Phoebe and Paige jumped up from their places at the table table, but Piper felt frozen to her spot on the sofa, and Leo, standing by the window with Wyatt in his arms, tensed as if expecting a fight.

Two figures emerged from the blue-white light of the orbs, Sarah, looking paler and more worn than she had for a long time, and, standing tall and strong, half a step in front of her as if to protect his friend from his family, Chris.

He was alive. He didn't even appear harmed.

And he was looking at all of them as if they were complete strangers.

"I came to tell you that Gideon is dead. Wyatt is safe. You can live your normal lives again."

There was absolutely no inflection in his voice.

Leo placed Wyatt in his playpen, then rushed over to Chris, hands extended to embrace or to heal.

"You're alive," he whispered, pure relief lighting his face.

But Chris, who was not looking at his face, sidestepped his father neatly.

"Yes," he said, bitterness seeping into his voice. "Sorry to disappoint."

"NO!" Leo protested, a bit too loud, and Chris flinched. "No, we're not… _disappointed! _We're just happy you're safe… we… _I_ was so worried!"

"Yes," Chris said again, just as bitter. "Sure."

Piper saw Phoebe glance over to her, as if expecting her to make a move, but Piper knew that one wrong word from her would make him leave forever, and so she forced herself to remain still, and watch, and try to understand.

Fortunately, Phoebe seemed to realize this without words and returned her attention to Chris.

"Are you alright?" She asked, sounding a bit breathless. "Were you hurt? They found your blood in that cave, and we feared…"

Chris shared a quick, unreadable look with Sarah.

"How fast the Elders can move when nothing depends upon it," he remarked, then returned his attention to Phoebe. His eyes seemed to soften a bit as he looked at her. "I'm not hurt, Phoebe. Everything went according to plan."

Phoebe nodded emphatically. "That's good," she said. "Very good. Sarah told me you had a plan, so that worked… good…"

She trailed off, noticing how ridiculous she sounded, and silence fell on the room again, heavy and suffocating.

"Chris," Phoebe then said, putting everything into it they couldn't say out loud, hadn't said when they'd had the chance, love, and pride, and longing, and Piper could see the skin around Chris' eyes tighten. "Chris, we're so sorry…

She trailed off, but Paige, stepping up besides her, jumped in seamlessly, her eyes wide and nervous, her face prepared for the rejection.

"We were idiots," she said. "Complete idiots. We should have trusted you, and supported you, and instead… I don't know what came over us. I don't know what went wrong. But we're sorry."

Chris' face twisted, as if he was gripped by a sudden and harsh emotion, and Piper's heartbeat seemed to stutter for a moment in surprise and worry. He was changed, somehow, though she couldn't yet name it.

"It's easily understandable," he said coolly, though his eyes were anything but cool. "You are a family, a team. I'm the outsider, the one with the shady past, the one that didn't belong. Why should you have trusted me."

It wasn't intended to make them feel better, and it didn't.

"But you did belong," Phoebe protested. "You were part of our lives for months, and even if you hadn't turned out to be my nephew, you were family, in a way. I should have…"

Piper could see Chris' jaws clench. He brushed his hair back and out of his face with a gesture so familiar, so _Chris_, that once again Piper's heart stuttered in protest. She wanted to walk over to him, to touch him and talk to him, but something told her that it wasn't the right time. Not yet. There was so much anger in him right now, so much restlessness and when the time was for her to speak, she'd need him to listen.

"I came here to tell you about Gideon," he said, abruptly, stepping back so that his arm brushed Sarah's shoulder. "Not to talk about your mistakes. I am confident that Wyatt's no longer in danger, so I'll be leaving now."

He turned around, his back a wall between them, and Piper was half up from the sofa, ready to stop him, ready to do anything if only it would keep him here. But Leo was faster.

"Please, Chris," he said, no, _begged_, his arms again outstretched as he walked towards his son. "You _have_ to listen to us! We…"

"No," Chris disagreed, his back still towards them. "I don't, actually. There's no reason for me to listen to a word you say, _Leo_."

Piper had prepared for words just like these, but still they hit her with the force of punch in the stomach. Her lips parted, her breath rushed out, but she remained silent. She could see that Chris wasn't finished, could see tension thrumming in the line of his shoulders, and she would let him talk, would treasure every word from him even if it hit her in her core.

He half raised his hand, as if reaching out towards Sarah, but before she could react, his arm dropped, and he whirled around.

Piper stared and stared. His face, always so unreadable, so controlled, so stony, was like an open book now, and ocean of feelings and pain, of currents and raging storms. She'd been right, he _was_ changed, and this change exhilarated and frightened her at the same time.

_This_ wasn't a calm whitelighter, a leader in control, a cynical critic that would foresee their every move and find them lacking. This was her son, human and emotional and full of pain. Her son, hurting in every way possible and yet gloriously alive.

She felt her eyes burn with shame and pride.

"I've been working for this moment _so long_," he half yelled, half whispered, fixing Leo with eyes that were so much his father's and yet completely alien in their haunted intensity. "I've planned, and fought, and bled for this, and I've been tortured and saw friends die and _sent_ friends to die, and all for this! _I _saved our family when all of you failed, and died, and left me alone! _I _saved this city, our future, when the only thing left of the Charmed Ones were the impossible ideals you _dumped_ on me! Eight years I have sacrificed to come to this point, eight years, the love of my life and my whole family! And when I stood over Gideon's dead body, do you know what I realized?"

Chris was panting now, his hands clenched to fists and his eyes burning green. He spit the words out as if they'd been a poison festering inside him, and perhaps they had been exactly that. For months he'd hidden this side of him away, this passionate, angry, human Chris.

It hurt Piper to see him like this, but it also gave her hope. He wanted them to know these things. He wanted something from them. There was still hope, then.

"I _have_ to do nothing!" He shouted, his eyes almost wild. "I already did more than anyone could have expected from me, and the way I see it, I'm done! I've lost nearly everyone I ever cared for, I'm messed up in ways you can't even imagine, and now there's no damned reason for me to _keep trying_!"

Phoebe was crying again, and Leo was white with shock. They had not expected this outburst from the Chris they'd known, and they had no idea how to deal with it. But Piper understood – he was her son. She knew this mad rush of emotions, the need to get it all out, to cut open the wound and let the blood run freely.

He had kept it under iron control these past months, but it seemed that Chris Halliwell had inherited his mother's temper after all.

As if he'd listened to her thoughts, Chris closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The raw feeling of magic in the air lessened as he regained control, and when he looked at them again, some of his old coldness had come back.

"You're not my family," he said, almost calm now. "I tried to be a part of you every way I could, but I failed. I guess I'm just not compatible."

He shrugged, a terrible, resigned kind of shrug. "You said yourself that I don't belong to you, and you're right. I don't belong here. To be honest, I don't even know who I am anymore, but that's alright, 'cause I don't _have_ to know. I don't _have_ to be a good whitelighter, and function, and _get a life_. I'm done. I did what I came for. So now I'll leave."

He turned around again, finished now, ready to leave them behind, and Piper rose from her seat without hesitation, rushed past her sobbing sisters and her crushed husband, and her voice was clear when she spoke.

"I love you," she said, no room at all for doubt in her voice. "I love you, son, and I'm incredibly proud of you."

He didn't turn around, but the angle of his head told her that he was listening, hesitating, not ready to commit but not willing to simply leave, either.

"I realize that this probably doesn't mean much to you at this point, and I can't tell you how sorry I am for all the things I did wrong. I failed you. I failed myself, and this family, but that's not important in comparison. I could understand if you wouldn't want me as your mother, but I'll always be proud that you are my son. I'm sure _your _Piper would be proud of you to."

Her voice broke, then, and the pain of this parting nearly overwhelmed her, but there was one more thing she needed to say, one more thing he needed to hear, and she said it with all her heart.

"And I promise, Chris, I _promise_ that I'll do it right this time. Your father and I, we won't give up until we're worthy of you. We have failed you this time around, but we'll never do it again. I'll love you with every fibre of my being, and I'll _die_ before I let anything happen to you ever again."

His head sank. The muscles in his shoulders knotted. He turned his head towards her and she could see the smooth line of his cheek, the stubble on his chin, one green eye, rimmed in red and in pain.

His voice was hoarse as he spoke.

"There's no need for that, mom," he said, and the word was a farewell, not an acknowledgement. It cut her to the quick. "You've already died for me once, and it didn't change a thing."

He orbed away.

* * *

**A/N**: The next chapter should be up soon, dearest readers

Review, please!


	40. Of Pain

A/N: This was a hard chapter to write, and originally I intended it to be only part of a chapter, but then it sort of got away from me. I hope you like it, nonetheless.

* * *

**Of Pain**

"Damn it!" Chris shouted as soon as they had rematerialized in their apartment. "Damn it, damn it, damn it!"

He didn't care that he sounded ridiculous and that this lack of control was something he'd seldom if ever allowed himself in the past. It felt good, and there was no one to witness it except Sarah.

Who had, after all, also witnessed the catastrophe that had been his meeting with the Charmed Ones, and what could be worse than that?

He flushed in anger and shame as he remembered the way he'd just exploded, no strategy, no self control at all, had just _blurted_ out whatever he was thinking, as if there wasn't a single brain cell left working in his head.

And to think that he'd kept his secrets from them for months, hiding everything he thought and felt, and now, _now_ that it was done, he'd blunder like this.

He'd called her mom.

"Damn it!"

His hands twitched and a huge crystal vase, probably enormously expensive, exploded in a rain of shards. He felt Sarah behind him, stepping closer to his back, wisely choosing the one position in the room where she'd be safe if he lost control over his power, and this single move brought him back to his senses.

He sighed, whispered a spell to restore the vase, threw himself onto the sofa and rubbed his face in his hands.

"That was stupid," he finally said in a voice resembling that of a sane person. "Really, really stupid."

Sarah shrugged, walked over to the sofa and sat down beside him.

"I'd say that you've earned your right to be stupid," she commented.

"I've also earned the right to dye my hair pink," he snapped back. "That's no good reason to do it!"

She just looked at him, totally nonplussed. For a moment, Chris wondered if she was really considering him with pink hair, and the ludicrous image finally brought him out of his dark mood. Somewhat.

"I shouldn't have gone there," he said calmly. "I made a mess out of what should have been simple."

"Nothing that concerns your family is ever simple," she disagreed dryly, then hesitated. "Perhaps that's why they try so hard."

He threw her a sharp look.

"Are you saying I should try harder, too?"

On any other person, the expression Sarah wore would have been exasperation.

"I'd be the last person to say that," she answered. "I'm just surprised that they actually behaved sensibly this time. It's not something I'm used to."

He smirked bitterly, but a knot in his stomach clenched painfully when he thought of Phoebe's tears and the raw emotions in Piper's voice.

_Might as well think of her as Mom_, he thought morosely. _I won't be able to differentiate between the two after this little outburst, anyway. That ship has sailed._

"Perhaps it's a law of magic," he offered. "They can only act like sensible people when I behave like an idiot and vice versa… It would explain quite a lot about my childhood."

He sighed, but to his embarrassment the sound turned into a huge yawn.

"Sorry about that," he apologized. Sarah just shook her head, and this time the expression on her face _was_ exasperation.

"You need to sleep," she chastised him.

"No, I don't," he said curtly.

"You've been on your feet more than thirty hours, and two of them were spent battling an Elder."

"Don't tell me things I already know," he snapped, and felt her flinch back from him, her body suddenly stiff and her face wary.

"I'm sorry," she said softly, nervously, and just like that, all of his anger was gone.

"No, _I _am, Sarah. You're the one person who stood with me start to finish. I shouldn't take this out on you."

He sighed again and touched her arm in a silent gesture of apology. She smiled, moved closer and bumped his shoulder.

"But you do need to sleep," she repeated.

Everything inside him protested against the idea. He was exhausted, sure, but after the day he'd had, sleep would hold no peace for him. He'd need more than his fingers to count the memories that would revisit him tonight, even without the pained face of his mother – present and future – prominent in his mind.

But he'd snapped at Sarah once already, snapped at her on the day she'd helped him save the world, and if he was to spend the night in this state, then it had better be in his bedroom, the door between them closed, or he would seriously hurt her.

"You're right," he said quietly. "I should just go to bed. Do you have everything you need? Does your leg still hurt?"

She just looked at him understandingly.

"You can't avoid it forever, Chris," she said and so he gave her shoulder one last squeeze, got to his feet clumsily and trudged over to his bedroom, knowing that sleep would drag him down quickly and dreading it at the same time.

He was asleep the moment his head hit the pillow.

He was awake and screaming thirty minutes later.

In his dreams that night, his mother died. Five times. Phoebe was tortured to death in front of him twice. His brother flayed him with magic and he betrayed the location of a safe house, condemning hundreds to death. The mutilated bodies of Elders rained from the Heavens. Alex died in front of him. His father's head was placed on a spike in front of Wyatt's palace, for the world to see. Bianca's body was pierced by a shard of wood and her blood coated his hands.

Only Sarah, raising him from the hell of his memories time and again, was a safe haven to him. After she'd disregarded the closed door between them for the fifth time in less hours to find him screaming and drenched in sweat again, she just shook her head and dragged one of the comfortable arm chairs over to his bed.

"This is ridiculous," she told him. "You need sleep. I had a nap this afternoon and I won't be able to rest with you like this, anyway."

"You can't sit here for the rest of the night, watching me!" He protested indignantly, although his head hurt and his eyes were burning and he didn't know why he was playing strong anymore.

She just folded herself into the armchair and cocked an eyebrow at him.

"You did it for me, too," she reminded him. "Now sleep, and I'll wake you if you have a bad dream, and if anything is coming for you, anything at all, I'll blast it into oblivion. Okay?"

Chris wanted to protest that he didn't need her help and wouldn't be treated like a child, but the heavy grey exhaustion dragged him under again and he fell asleep before he could say a word.

* * *

When he next woke, his limbs felt heavy and rested and he sensed that much time had passed.

Afternoon sunlight was bathing the room in a golden glow, painting patterns on the bedroom's walls. He turned his head to the side, and although Sarah's armchair was still keeping watch over him, his friend was gone. He could hear indistinct sounds coming from the kitchen.

More relaxed than he'd been for a long, long time, Chris closed his eyes again and enjoyed the sensation of soft, cool linen against his skin. He stretched, feeling for his bruises and abrasions and finding most of them already gone. The healing potion had done its job admirably.

The sunlight cast red shadows through his closed lids as he sank into his magical core, finding it replenished but not back to its usual strength. He'd have to keep his hands off major spellwork for a few more days at least.

Chris sighed, burrowing his head deeper into the pillows. Somewhere out there, a lot of decisions were waiting for him. There was also the mess he'd made of things yesterday, and the emotional chaos that was waiting for him around the corner.

But sleep had done him a world of good. The feelings that had overwhelmed him yesterday felt muted now, the raw absolutes of right and wrong, past and future coloured more softly, and he realized that the paradigm shift that had come upon him yesterday, the feeling of change was a part of him now, incorporated in ways he couldn't yet fully understand.

Yesterday, he'd been a driven man. Today, it was enough to lie here, enjoy the silence of his bedroom and not yet wake up properly.

Then, the enticing smell of coffee entered the room, and he suddenly found that he was ravenously hungry.

"I hope I did it right," Sarah said, standing in the door to his room with two steaming mugs in her hand. "You explained the coffee machine to me, so I thought I'd try it."

Chris sat up, the blankets pooling around his waist, and looked at her with bleary eyes.

"I slept," he said happily, and she actually laughed at him.

"Yes," she agreed. "You were twisting and turning a few times, but I found out that talking to you actually helps, so you got in a good eight hours. You needed them."

Before today, he'd probably be feeling awkward because she'd watched him sleep, or because he'd let no one except Bianca get that close to him since his mother died, thinking that he should be careful not to become too co-dependent.

But now, after they had trusted each other with their lives on the battlefield, after they'd

worked together instinctively, like a true team, and written a new future for the world, he found that all of those things didn't really matter anymore. She'd gifted him with a true night's sleep, and that was wonderful, nothing to get anxious about.

"Thank you," he therefore said instead of all the other things he could have said. He took the coffee from her and sipped it carefully. "I really, really did."

* * *

Breakfast was a leisurely affair that morning, both because Chris was trying to teach Sarah the principles of creating a perfect omelette and because he was stalling. He knew that he'd have to make a decision soon, about his future and his family.

He couldn't stay in this apartment forever and let the world rush by, never mind Sarah's argument that with his successful identity theft from the demon and the accompanying bank accounts, he very well could. If he wanted to return to the future, he'd need to research a spell to get him there. And if he wanted to stay in the present, he'd have to find out whether that would be even possible with his approaching birth.

But whenever he tried to think about that, the other question, namely what to do about his family, kept intruding. He didn't _have_ to see them again, and in some cases (Leo) he didn't want to, but he was also very aware that he'd caused them pain during their last meeting, and some part of him (Mommy's boy, Wyatt had always called him) couldn't bring himself to just leave them with angry words and nothing else.

"What should I do?" He finally asked over the results of her cooking attempts. "I have no idea how to go about this, Sarah. Should I go back and change my alter ego's life forever? Should I stay in this time? And should I try to talk with them again? My temper isn't really reliable at the moment, so perhaps it would be better if I simply left…"

He found that he couldn't imagine that, either.

Sarah looked a bit disbelieving that he would ask her of all people, considering that she'd never had a family to quarrel with before. But she was, after all, the only person who knew about the whole thing and wasn't part of the problem.

There was also the fact that he trusted her, more than perhaps anyone else in this time. She had been willing to die for him, more than once, and had still survived, unlike all the others. But he chose not to dwell on that thought for the moment.

Everything had its season, after all.

Finally, she sighed, quickly cleared the breakfast table and retrieved a large leather bound book from the living room. Chris recognized it as one of the foremost tomes on magical theory he now had in his (not quite legally achieved) possession.

"Actually, I've done a bit research while you were asleep," Sarah said, opened the book to a marked page and handed it over to him. "And it turns out that our options are more limited than we'd thought. While you can exist in the same time with another version of yourself for a while without producing negative side effects, it's not a good thing to try for long."

She pointed to a paragraph below the picture of a very sickly looking man and boy.

Chris read. His heart sank. This had always been a likely possibility, but to see the facts drawn out clearly and without room for doubt was still frustrating. He read the passage twice, even though he didn't have to.

"So basically," he said after a long moment. "If we try to stay in the past, ours and our mini-mes' life forces will fuse and there won't be enough of it for both versions of us. We'd be leeching life out of each other until we'll all die?"

Sarah nodded. "We'll have to go back if we want our future-selves to have gone into the past to stop Gideon, because otherwise we'll create a paradox. Our only alternative to going back would be to make a deal with the Elders."

"Which would involve Leo, anyway," Chris finished the thought. "Brilliant."

The thought wasn't as daunting as it would have been yesterday, but with the clarity sleep had brought him also came the realization of how badly things really stood with his family.

They'd treated him like crap over the last months. Then they'd warmed up to him a bit only to have things escalate, which ended with him thrown out of the house. And what was he to make of his mother's contradictions? She'd told him she loved him (and hadn't he thrown that back in her face), but she'd also told him… He shied away from the thought.

Never before had he been so tempted to simply let things be and take the cowardly way out.

"I'd rather just go back to the future," he said quietly.

Sarah nodded understandingly.

"But still, I think…" she began, then hesitated until he nodded for her to continue.

"Freedom of speech, remember?" He reminded her, even though he'd rather not hear what she had to say right now. It was bound to be unpleasant.

"I think you should try to resolve this thing with your family before you go back to the future," she offered quietly. "Or it would lead to very complicated relationships in twenty years' time. Not to mention how difficult it would make things for the young version of you."

Chris let his head hit the wood of the table with an audible thump. So much for having a choice.

"So I'll have to talk to them one way or the other," he summarized. "Whether I want to or not."

"No, you don't," Sarah disagreed. "There's no one forcing you. It's not even part of saving the world."

She smiled.

"I just imagine that it would make things easier in the long run. But if you really don't want to, you can write them a letter, or have me talk to them, or simply not do anything and see what happens. It's still your decision."

Chris tried to imagine the life this timeline's version of him would lead with all this guilt and tension on his back. He shuddered. And with the things he'd said during their last meeting, with The Event's ugly facts thrown right into his mom's face – if she died again, this time around, it might very well be his fault.

No real decision, there.

"I'll try," he therefore said. "But not with all of them at the same time. That was the mistake, I think. The whole family in one room creates a kind of chaos and tension that I just can't deal with. Not yet, at least."

Sarah just nodded, probably remembering her own share of drama and catastrophe.

"I'd suggest you start with Phoebe," she then added. "She's been most reasonable all along, and she's tried really hard to connect with you. It might be easier to talk to her than to the rest of them."

"Yes, I think I'll do that," he said slowly. "Phoebe it is."

But although the decision was made, and he knew it was the right one, he felt the heaviness of it in every cell of his body, weighing him down. He doubted that this was the feeling of freedom. But then he'd never really been made for that, being a Hallliwell.

* * *

A/N: Right! The next chapter is almost finished and should be up in two or three days, so keep your eyes peeled for that.

Now there's one more question I have concerning the sequel, and this is your last chance to really influence my decision: I have two versions fighting in my head. One has romance of the Sarah/Chris persuasion in it, one hasn't (both, I'm afraid have no Bianca in them. I tried, but it simply didn't work). Both are stories I'd absolutely love to write, so it falls to you to decide. After you've seen the development of these characters – **DO YOU WANT A ROMANCE BETWEEN THEM OR NOT**? Speak now or be quiet forever.

(And review!)


	41. A Glimpse

**A Glimpse**

Phoebe had been sitting on the park bench for hours, the little bag with her recent purchase clutched in both hands. She wasn't too clear on her motives for sitting around in the middle of Golden Gate Park. Perhaps she had needed to leave the house and its depressing atmosphere for a few hours. Perhaps she was hoping that Chris would be more likely to come to her when she wasn't around the family.

Perhaps she was just kidding herself.

But when she heard the sound of orbs and saw Chris materialize in front of her, she closed her eyes and sent a little prayer of thanks to the heavens.

"Hey," he said softly, not really looking at her.

"Chris!" She exclaimed, then hushed herself immediately. He didn't need gushing right now. "I'm so glad you've come. I was afraid you'd simply…"

"Vanish?" He offered. "I certainly thought about it."

His confession crushed her, and he must have seen it on her face, for he sighed, tucked both hands in his pockets in a gesture of insecurity, then sat down beside her on the bench.

He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again and half shook his head. She could sense a buzz from him, a nervous tension that was very different from the urgency she'd become used to. Her nephew didn't know what to say.

And why should he? This convoluted mess wasn't his fault, and she shouldn't look to him to clear it up. She was still older than he, even if one disregarded the little life growing inside Piper. She was still his aunt.

"It's been quite a week, hmm?" She said, aiming for uplifting and failing quite badly. "You've been through hell more than once these past days. How do you feel?"

He shrugged.

"I honestly don't know," he answered, aiming for nonchalant and achieving helpless. "It's been too much, I guess. I have no idea who I am, where I stand, what do to with myself…"

He trailed off, and she quietly considered the enormity of it all – a life spent in pursuit of one single goal, one huge achievement. And now it was done, and everything was over, in a way. By changing the future, this Chris had made himself obsolete, survivor of a war that would never come to pass, with skills no one would ever need and nightmares no one would understand.

"You'll always…" she began, remembering the time she had been Queen of Darkness, ruling a world that was now lost forever. _I'll always have my sisters_, she'd thought back then, when everything changed and she'd stood before the ruins of her life. _I'll always have my family_.

But she couldn't offer that consolation to him, not right now, because his family had failed him, and she had a feeling that no matter what she said, no matter what they did to get closer to this version of Chris, this was a wound that only time could possibly hope to heal.

"You'll always have yourself," she therefore said, although it hurt her in more ways than she could count to say it. "You're such a strong person, Chris, so brave, so intelligent. Whatever may happen, you'll do the right thing."

She hesitated.

"And I'll do anything to support you. If you'll let me. We all will."

"Phoebe…" he answered, his face twisted with uncertainty. "I don't know if I'll ever… So much has happened, and I'm sorry for the awful things I said yesterday, but… it's been such a long time since I was part of this family. I mean, Wyatt and I have been the only ones left for so many years now, and I don't know what I expected when I came to the past, but…"

He stopped abruptly, then, his breath quick and his head turned away from her. Phoebe could feel tears burning in her eyes, and she didn't know if they were his or hers. He sounded so devastated.

"I…" he continued. "The things that happened… I know the past year was difficult for all of you, and that I didn't make it any easier… I didn't know how to, but…"

He took a deep breath. His hands were clenched to fists.

"It hurt. I understood why you treated me that way, in part, but I didn't expect it, and it really hurt me. _You_ hurt me. And the way you all looked at me, and the things Mom said… And I… I just don't know if I'll ever…"

Another deep, laboured breath.

"Every time I look at her, I hear her voice, telling me that I'm not one of you, and perhaps that's true. Perhaps there's just been too much water under the bridge. I think it'd be best to calm down and accept that our chance is gone and just make sure that the other Chris won't suffer from it."

He turned back to her, and the pain in his eyes hit her almost physically. Her hands lost all strength, and opened, and the little bag slid from her fingers and down to the ground. He picked it up quickly and tried to hand it back to her, but she could only look at him, disbelievingly, unable to accept that the chance she'd hoped for had come and gone, just like that.

And yet she couldn't argue with him. She didn't have the right.

"What's this, then?" He asked, just toying with the bag, relieved to have something that would break the tension.

He clearly didn't want to leave her like this, but he'd just as clearly said what he'd come to say.

Phoebe swallowed and tried to speak, then swallowed again.

"That's nothing," she finally came out. "Just a silly thought. I wanted… I just needed to do _something _for you and so…"

Clumsily, she took the bag from him and opened it, showing him the little piece of jewellery she'd purchased at a dealer's in antique magical artefacts.

"It's an amulet to keep you safe, you or little Chris or… I don't even know. It's stupid, considering, and I know it doesn't even register on the scale of things, but I wanted…"

She looked up at him, and her words trailed away. His eyes, dark green and closed off a moment ago, were now shining brightly, tears and wonder and excitement wrapped together into an emotion too complicated to name.

"What is it?" She asked, surprised by the change. "Did I do something wrong?"

He just shook his head mutely, reached out, and suddenly she found herself wrapped in an embrace that shocked and delighted her at the same time. He was warm, and alive, and her _nephew_, and she was finally allowed to touch him. Not caring what had brought this on, she simply folded her arms around him and hung on with all she had.

When he let go of her, after an endless moment, he reached under his shirt and withdrew a little leather bag on a cord she had seen him wear once or twice. It was carefully tied with several lengths of string, as if the owner hadn't trusted a single piece to keep the content safe. Chris undid the knots with shaking hands, then opened the leather bag slowly.

From it, he shook four small objects: two rings, one of which Phoebe recognized as Piper's wedding band and one as Bianca's engagement ring, one old, hackneyed quarter… and the well worn, slightly older counterpart of the amulet she held clenched in her hand.

"Oh…" Phoebe whispered, breath catching. "Oh, Chris."

"Some things don't change, Phoebe," he said quietly, his green eyes resting on her with an almost tender expression. "And the fact that things went to hell doesn't mean there weren't good times, before…"

He hesitated. "Perhaps that's one of the reasons why I fought so hard for this," he then continued, and it sounded like a confession. "Because I got a glimpse of what it could have been, _should_ have been, and I just… I wanted that back."

He smiled, almost shyly.

"You gave this to me when I was about four. I've always carried it with me. And now you've bought it for me again. I guess that's a good sign."

Phoebe took a deep breath, determined not to cry again, nor to hug him and babble her love to him, which would probably be enough to send any man into retreat mode. She could still feel his arms around him, and she wanted to hang on to that feeling, to this moment.

"Where's the quarter from?" She therefore asked, both to change the topic and to keep him talking.

"It's Grandpa's," he replied immediately, and she could see his whole face lighting up, the burdens of war suddenly falling away from him. "He kept it for luck, and when I turned ten he gave it to me, because I needed it more than he ever could, he said…"

"So you were close to Dad?" Phoebe asked, wanting him to go on.

"He was awesome," Chris answered in the same, easy, happy tone she was so unused to. "He was always there for me, always, as long as he…"

He stopped abruptly, looked up at her, and the warmth in his eyes died along with his relaxation. Suddenly, his shoulders were tense again.

"I should go," he said. "I just wanted you to tell everyone I'm sorry, and that I'll stay in town until I've researched the spell to bring us back to the future."

He rose from the bench, his eyes already scanning the park for possible orbing-witnesses, but she reached out and tucked at his sleeve.

She couldn't let him leave, not after that hug, not after she'd seen her gift to him protected like a treasure, one of the last remnants of the family he'd lost.

"Chris," she said, very earnestly. "Come to dinner tomorrow. You and Sarah. Please. Don't leave it like that."

He made a move as if to free himself from her grasp, then suddenly stopped and brushed his hair back in frustration.

"It's not that easy, Phoebe."

"I know it isn't," she agreed quickly. "But that doesn't mean we shouldn't try it. And I don't want us to discuss what happened and talk about our feelings, I just think one evening together, eating, getting to know the real you, celebrating what you did – it would be good for all of us."

Chris looked as if he doubted that very much.

"It could also be very bad for us," he disagreed. "Mom and Dad make me _so _angry, and I'm not a very patient person at the moment," He saw her cocking her head and opening her mouth. "And I swear, Phoebe, if you start psychologising me, I'll orb out immediately."

Phoebe's smile broadened.

"You know me so well," she said, and when he mock-scowled at her, she raised her hand in surrender. "No psychology, I promise! And I'm not trying to force you into anything you don't want. It would just mean so much to all of us, especially to Piper."

"And no emotional blackmail, either," he warned her, but his voice sounded almost amused.

She tried to match his amusement, but sadness tightened her chest.

"I just…" She whispered, her eyes caressing his face. "I just wished I could know you as well as you know me. You've been such a brilliant whitelighter to us, so much support, and, at times, I almost hoped we were friends. And I know _nothing_ about you, nothing at all, and I feel so bad about that…"

He stretched out his arm for a moment, as if meaning to hug her again, but then let it fall. He sighed.

For a long time, there was only silence.

"Okay," he then agreed reluctantly. "Dinner tomorrow. Eight o'clock. We'll be there, but I reserve the right to orb out whenever I want."

Said it, and did just that.

* * *

"We need to get this right."

Piper and Leo were standing in Piper's bedroom, about three feet apart, both taking great pains not to remember the way their last conversation in this room had ended. It was Piper who had spoken, but the thought could just as well have come from Leo.

"Yes," he agreed.

He still wasn't completely sure why it had gone so wrong the first time. The last months seemed hazy to him, parted from this reality by the shock Chris' identity had caused him. He felt as if he'd been sleeping for weeks, his mind in chaos and his actions dictated by instinct and desperation.

He'd made so many mistakes, all the time thinking he was doing the right thing. He had been so _stupid_.

And then that single fact, that single, awful and wonderful sentence that had snapped him awake: _He's your son_.

What use were the powers of an Elder, what use was immortality when your own son had to travel back in time to correct your wrongs? And you weren't even wise enough to help him.

Why did being good feel so useless all of a sudden?

"We mustn't crowd him," Piper now said, laying down the rules and regulations for their dinner tomorrow like commandments set in stone. He was thankful for it, because he couldn't trust himself to get it right, otherwise.

"We need to accept the distance between him and us," Piper continued. "It's our fault, and we can't expect him to cross over to us when we haven't even built a bridge yet."

Truly, he didn't think he'd ever loved her as much as he did now, standing apart from her in their old room, watching her pain and her incredible strength.

The news had crushed them both, but where he had collapsed, a ruin of his former self, his ideals in shambles, she had picked herself up with unbelievable determination and built herself together again. She had made mistakes, too, but she had learned from them, and her will to make things right was something he could trust in more than he could trust in the Elders or in himself. It had always been that way.

"We must accept that we don't know him, not the way that matters, and that this evening will most likely be our only chance to _get_ to know him."

Leo nodded, accepting all of this.

"He is his own man," he agreed. As hard as it would be to smother the need to protect his newfound son, he would have to try. It seemed that he had grown into the man he was without their help, and he probably wouldn't welcome it now, not after they hadn't helped before, not after they had left him alone to struggle with his Herculean task on his own.

"And we will _not_ criticize his methods," Piper said a bit sharply.

That was a bit of a problem for both of them, Leo knew. Many of the reservations they'd had concerning the time travelling whitelighter had vanished once they'd known Chris was their son. It might seem like bigotry to others – in fact, Phoebe had used that very word more than once –, but the simple fact was that being a Halliwell had turned Chris from an outsider, manipulating his way in for shady reasons, into an insider, who was doing the right thing even though his means weren't always the best.

To put it simply: Only a Halliwell was allowed to manipulate a Halliwell. And only a Halliwell could be trusted to know when the time for such measures was right.

But all this newfound trust didn't change the one fact they'd been dancing around ever since Chris' identity had been revealed. Manipulation they might accept. But what about his willingness to endanger Wyatt? What about his admission that he'd rather kill him than risk his turning evil?

"No, we won't," Leo agreed after a moment of hesitation. These things were in the past now, and if they managed to reconcile with Chris, there would be time enough to talk about them later. If they didn't…

"We will prove to him that we've learned something from this," he said quietly. "Now and in the future. Whenever he comes round, he _will_ feel loved."

Piper nodded, satisfied by this. Then her eyes softened somewhat, darting to his face and across the room.

"I appreciate that you're here for this, Leo," she whispered. "I know the Elders have been going wild about Gideon's death. It means a lot that you're down here with us."

To be honest, Leo hadn't even considered staying away, not after the past week, and the fact that she thought this needed saying shocked him. Had he really become that distant to the needs of his family?

"I know that I wasn't there for you much these past months, Piper," he finally said. "But I'll pull my weight in this, I promise. I'll be here for you and the children, and this Chris, of course, should he ever want me to. I won't disappoint my family again."

"That's good," Piper said, and even managed to smile. There were tears in her eyes, waiting to spill, but she kept them back with the same bravery that had made him fall in love with her. "Because we can't afford to disappoint him in this, Leo. We just can't."

* * *

A/N: Thank you all for your reviews and your opinions on Chris' and Sarah's relationship in the sequel. Almost exactly half of you want romance, and the other half is decidedly against it. Sigh. You're not making this easy for me, are you?

Review, please!


	42. The Lion's Den

A/N: I'm so, so sorry for the unbelievable delay, you guys. I was seriously ill and am still recovering from that. But I've spent the last weeks plotting and writing the rest of this story, and I hope I will finish it in reasonable time now, updating at least once a week (unless I have a relapse, which is always a risk).

So please don't be angry with me, and accept this humble (and very long) chapter as my apology!

* * *

**The Lion's Den**

"Do you really think this is wise, Chris?" Sarah asked as she watched him pace the floor of their apartment.

He had returned from his meeting with Phoebe nervous, already regretting that he had agreed to this dinner, but still there was a new kind of hope in his eyes.

"You never wanted to see them again half a day ago, and now this?"

He sighed, brushed his hair back, then adjusted the collar of his green button-down shirt.

"I don't know," he answered. "What you said was right, I think – I cannot simply leave it be, not without risking the future. I mean, just imagine how they would behave around my baby-version if we left now – they'd either spoil him rotten, because they feel so guilty, or they'd try to turn him into a different person because they don't like the way I am or the things I did. With my luck, _I_'d turn out the evil one this time around."

Despite the apprehension in his voice, Sarah couldn't help but smile.

"I very much doubt that, Chris. Besides, Phoebe would make sure it'll all turn out okay, wouldn't she?"

He turned to her, his eyes dark and serious.

"Phoebe's a wreck," he said quietly. "She'd never admit it, but all this hit her badly, and I've never seen her so unbalanced. She behaved best of all of them, and if _she_ feels like this, I really don't want to imagine the state Paige and Piper must be in."

"And you feel _guilty_ about that?" She asked, incredulous.

She didn't want to make things even more difficult for him, but she also wouldn't let him do this to himself again, taking up all the burdens of the family and carry them alone.

"No!" He protested vehemently. "No, it's not about guilt, and I'm not about to forgive them and play happy family, either. It's just…"

He sighed again, then once more adjusted his collar.

"We will have to go back, the sooner the better. And despite everything we changed, I do not know if they will still be alive in our future. I cannot risk that those were the last words I ever said to her, that I will have to remember her that way.

"When Phoebe showed me the amulet she had bought, I was glad that this part of my future hadn't changed. But it also made me realize that, perhaps, others things won't change, either. Perhaps Mom will still die when I turn fourteen. And I can't just leave it like that. Call me selfish, but I have to see them again."

"To do what, Chris?"

He sagged.

"Perhaps to throw it in their faces. Perhaps to convince myself that they are as shallow and arrogant as they sometimes behave. Perhaps to once more hear my mother say she loves me. Perhaps to no longer see her lying on the floor, bleeding out, or his head on a stake, whenever I think of them. I don't know, Sarah. I don't know my own mind these days, and I feel ridiculous, but I can't change it."

Now it was Sarah who sighed, and stepped closer, and gently touched his arm.

"I don't want you to get hurt," she whispered.

He laughed bitterly.

"After the things I've seen and done, what else could they do to me?" He asked rhetorically, but in the following silence, the answer was obvious to them both.

So much, much more.

* * *

For the first time since Sarah had come to the past, they orbed not into the kitchen of the Manor but outside the front door. Chris rang the bell with less than steady hands, and there they stood, visitors to a place that had been almost home to them.

Then the door opened and Phoebe and Paige greeted them, both visibly nervous but also delighted that they had really come. It was all a blur to Sarah – being ushered in and moved through the living room, being chattered at as if she were an old friend of the family. She didn't quite know how to deal with it.

Was she the only one who thought this situation surreal?

But then they reached the large dining table, decked out with a table cloth so white it seemed to glow, fine china and heavy silver. Just the way Lord Wyatt liked to have his table laid.

Chris at her side flinched violently, and with that miniscule reaction, the situation snapped back into focus for Sarah. This might be bewildering to her, but it was much more difficult for Chris, and the sight of this table, inviting his family to sit down and enjoy dinner together, had to be agony for him.

How often had Lord Wyatt spoken of this room, of this table, laden with food and alive with conversation, of the uncountable meals the Halliwell family had taken here, first the sisters and their husbands, with Piper's two boys peering over the edge of the table, barely reaching it, and later with their cousins, young, fresh faces arriving one by one, taking their places at the table until it needed to be enlarged.

Sometimes, Lord Wyatt would take her to the Manor, close it down for the public for a few hours, then just stand there at the head of the table, counting out places and names and with them memories.

Uncle Henry, the least powerful among them but never intimidated and always up for a joke. Uncle Coop, watching them all with the immeasurable love of a cupid in his eyes. Grandpa Victor, truly re-united with his family over the care for his grandsons and –daughters. Prudence, Tamora and Kat, three headstrong girls that never had a chance to fully grow into strong women, and all the others that had joined them over the years.

Lord Wyatt would count them out, eyes burning with intensity, lingering longest over Chris' place, the only other member of the family still alive. Then he would tell her how they had died. How he had killed them.

But in a way, when he looked at that table, they had still been alive to him, the sound of their laughter echoing through the years, and sometimes he had smiled and looked like the boy he had once been.

Because this table _was_ the Halliwell family.

Here they had met again and again over the years, had gathered, celebrating all they were and ever could be, feasting together on birthdays and Wiccanings.

And, later, funerals.

Once more, the endless road between the sisters of this time and Chris stretched before Sarah's eyes. They had the future to look forward to, births and victories, a home crowded with life.

Chris saw the same table, but in his eyes she could see the empty chairs lining up along its smooth length. Father and mother, aunts and uncles, grandfather and cousins.

All dead.

The sisters didn't know it, but they couldn't have chosen a better symbol for the distance between them.

There they stood, nervous but pleased with their effort, and here Piper came, stepping out of the kitchen, her hands clutching a dishtowel.

They were waiting for Chris to join them, inviting him to the family table.

They were blind to the graveyard lying between them.

Suddenly, Sarah was terribly sure that this evening would end in disaster.

* * *

Paige had been a nervous wreck for most of the day, and only the preparations for dinner carried her through the afternoon.

Phoebe hadn't been sure about their decision to turn dinner into something grand, but Piper had argued that their family had always celebrated important occasions like this. Chris had witnessed it in the past and very likely would in the future, too. How would he feel if they didn't put out the good china for his victory over Gideon?

Paige herself wasn't sure what would be right for the occasion. She'd never been as close to Chris as Phoebe, and she hadn't much talked to him since she'd found out he was their nephew. How was she supposed to know what he would want?

But when she'd opened the door to him and seen that he'd put on a good shirt and at least tried to smooth his hair down, she'd been relieved that they'd made such an effort. He certainly deserved it, and more than anything else she wanted him to feel welcome and at home.

Only then he'd turned pale at the sight of the table, and sat down wordlessly, and Sarah was looking really worried. Obviously, something was wrong.

Paige wanted to cuss in frustration, but she pulled herself together and sat down silently. There was so much that could go wrong, so many ways they could put their foot in without even noticing.

An uneasy silence spread across the room as Piper brought the first course – a steaming tomato and leek soup – from the kitchen and the rest of them took their places. Leo ladled the soup into bowls and Piper distributed them among those seating.

This, too, had been a point of contention – it was weird how much one could argue about a simple dinner -, but Phoebe had insisted that they do this the informal way.

_Like a family_, she had said.

"Thank you," Chris said quietly as he accepted the soup. It was the first thing he'd said to Piper since his parting shot about her dying for him, and she twitched in surprise, one hand almost reaching out to touch him.

But she suppressed that impulse and handed Sarah her bowl instead, who nodded her silent thanks.

The soup gave them an excuse not to talk, but as the minutes ticked on and the tension around the table got heavier, Paige realized that things would never work out this way, that they would simply sit around quietly until it was time for Chris and Sarah to leave if someone didn't take the initiative.

"Thank you for coming, Chris," Piper finally said, her voice a bit wobbly but surprisingly strong considering the circumstances. "I'm so glad you agreed to this."

"Yes, well, Phoebe can be very persuasive," Chris said dryly, and Phoebe, not caring about the double-edge of this compliment, actually preened in her seat.

"We wanted to celebrate your victory," Piper tried again, then smiled crookedly. "I even go out your great-grandmothers best silver. No expenses spared."

"Yes," Chris replied slowly, his gaze hooded and revealing nothing. "I can see that."

Paige could see Piper fidget nervously. This wasn't how the oldest Halliwell sister had expected the evening to go. She had prepared for emotional outbursts, for declarations of love and hate, but not for this polite couple of strangers, non-committing and uncommunicative. If nobody did anything, this would turn out to be an awful evening.

"We're having lasagna tonight." Piper kept up the cheerful tone, although it was developing cracks. "I hope you both like lasagna?"

Sarah nodded silently, still strangely on edge, but Chris tried for a small smile.

"I do," he confirmed. "You often made it for Sunday lunch, because everybody in the family liked it."

His eyes darted around the table, strangely enough continuing beyond its edge, as if he remembered it larger, but Paige was too delighted by his reaction to think about that.

This was actually a small miracle! Chris volunteering answers, and about his future, no less? Something within her relaxed. He really wanted this to work.

Piper gave an answering smile, relaxing the room even further.

"That's why I made it tonight," she confided in him. "And since I never got to ask what your favourite dish was…"

"Your roast with apple-plum sauce," Chris replied immediately. "You used port for the base and added just a hint of cinnamon…" He closed his eyes as if he could still taste it.

Paige wasn't sure what surprised her more – this new side of Chris, who could actually name the ingredients of Piper's sauce, or the fact that for once Piper's assumption that every conflict could be solved with the help of a good meal actually seemed to work.

"You like to cook?" Piper asked, and Paige saw that she almost burst into tears at this evidence of their kinship.

Chris actually grinned. It transformed him into a younger, softer man.

"I did, yes," he said. "You taught me a lot, since I was the only one who volunteered to help in the kitchen."

"So that won't change, huh?" Piper asked, grinning back at him. "I'll have to force the lot of them to do the dishes forever?"

"Pretty much," Chris confirmed, and the sudden closeness between them was surreal.

"Well, it's a gift not everyone can appreciate."

Chris chuckled.

"More like an instinct," he commented. "Wyatt used to say that I was destined to become the next Halliwell matriarch with my urge to feed everyone."

His grin dimmed and died at the memory, and suddenly, the room seemed colder. He looked down at his plate, the old, burdened Chris again.

Actually, the expression on his face reminded Paige of how she herself had often felt after her parents' death, when there seemed to have been a conspiracy of never mentioning them again that no one had bothered to inform her about. So she would sit together with her friends or couples that had been close to her parents, and she would make a comment, or quote one of her mother's proverbs.

Immediately, the room would react with embarrassed silence, as if she'd flashed her panties, and she'd felt as if she'd somehow broken the rules, as if she'd spoiled the mood by mentioning something unpleasant.

It had made her feel like an outsider, like someone who had experienced a side of the world she could never share with others.

"Well, I'll make sure he doesn't tease you too much about that," Piper said quickly, clinging to the good mood of a moment ago. "What else do you like to do in your free time? Apart from cooking, I mean."

But the easy atmosphere was lost, and Chris didn't look up at her.

"I haven't cooked properly in years," he said. "And I haven't really had free time since I was fourteen, to be honest."

It seemed that the lid had slammed down on their future together, and he was unwilling to lift it again. Although the moment had been fleeting, Paige mourned for it.

"But you must have hobbies," Piper tried again. "Music, movies? Favourite books?"

He shrugged.

"I used to read a lot, but these days it's mostly studies on magical history and theory, and the Book of Shadows, of course. I never really had time for novels."

"Oh, come on," Piper said teasingly. "Even you must have had a normal childhood at one point!"

Paige could see what Piper was trying to do – she wanted to recreate the atmosphere of shared confidences that had bloomed between them only minutes ago, wanted the sense of familiarity to stand against the gap that divided them.

But from Chris' and Sarah's face, she could also see that the attempt had backfired spectacularly. Piper's comment was too close to all those offhand remarks they had thrown at Chris these past months, too close to calling him neurotic or freakish or 'without a life'. Piper had meant to strengthen the connection between them, but instead she had excluded Chris from the group.

"A normal childhood?" He asked innocently. "Like throwing around balls with my Dad and not worrying about anything?"

"Yes," Piper agreed, thinking she had gotten through to him. Paige knew that she had managed the opposite.

He smirked. It looked bitter.

"I was the son of a Charmed One," he said tonelessly. "There wasn't much normal involved in that. And by the time I was sixteen, I spent my time on the run or living in caves, or directing armies. So there wasn't much time for movie nights. Sorry to disappoint you."

That shut this line of conversation down effectively, and again the silence was there, as if it had been hovering just out of sight, waiting for its chance to return tenfold.

"So how did you do it?" Paige asked abruptly, hoping that if they addressed the elephant in the room some of the tension would ease away. At least this topic would make Chris _talk_. "How did you get to Gideon? If his security was even half as good as when we confronted him, it must have been pretty difficult!"

Chris stirred from his position, his hand hovering over his glasses before choosing the water and taking a small sip. Paige's apprehension suddenly increased, as if she had wandered into a harmless garden that turned out to be a minefield. Really, why did their family always have to be so complicated?

"Not with our plan," Chris replied calmly. "It worked perfectly."

"Plan?" Paige asked weakly. Somehow she wasn't sure she wanted to know anymore.

"Yes," Chris nodded. He smiled, a thin, brittle expression, and once more took a sip of water. "Sarah stripped me of my powers and defected to Gideon, to help him kill Wyatt. She brought me along as a present. Once she'd gotten Gideon's trust and rid of most of the demons, she restored my magic and we defeated him together."

Leo, at the other end of the table, swallowed heavily.

"You tricked him," he stated. "And you gave over your magic willingly. That sounds… risky."

Chris' smile turned even colder, and his hand clenched around the stem of his glass.

"Not particularly. And I've done this sort of thing before. I once let an allied darklighter shoot me so that I could be smuggled into a prison camp. This was nothing in comparison."

Now Paige felt downright alarmed. Why was he telling them this? If there was one thing she had learned from watching Chris, it was that he had almost total control of his actions and – if possible – his surroundings. If he was volunteering information like this, there had to be a reason.

And then Paige saw the calculating gaze he swept across the room, the way he was keeping track of their expressions, and understood. He was testing them, trying to provoke them into an unguarded reaction that would betray the real feelings behind their masks of relaxed cheer.

And from the way Leo's and Piper's faces changed, Paige saw that they were falling for it.

"Darklighter allies?" Piper asked softly.

"Yes," Chris replied curtly. "The Resistance wasn't just made for good witches, you know, and we couldn't afford to be picky. The most powerful dark forces allied with Wyatt, of course, or were destroyed by him, but I worked with darklighters, dark creatures, warlocks, demons…"

Leo flinched, and Chris' eyes darkened in reaction.

"Surely that can't surprise you," he said dryly. "I was engaged to a phoenix witch, after all."

Now it was Sarah who flinched, as if the sharpness in Chris' words had caught her unawares.

"Chris…" she began softly, but he just looked at her and she fell silent.

Piper, on the other hand, took a deep breath and spoke.

"I am sure you had your reasons, Chris," she said calmly. "It must have been a difficult time for you all."

Something twisted in Chris' face, and he set his glass down with more force than necessary.

"So that's the way we're going to do this?" He asked. He sounded angry, but also strangely sad, as if mourning for a lost opportunity. "You're going to use those 'difficult times' as an excuse and pretend I would have turned out normal and regular otherwise?"

Piper paled.

"No," she said quickly. "No, that's not what I meant. I meant that you have adapted to your surroundings because you had to. If things had been different…"

"And what if my younger self turns up with Bianca on his arm when he's seventeen? Will you blame the difficult times, then? Will you still pretend I'm just like you, deep down?"

Piper and Leo shared a helpless look.

"Bianca is quite a bit older than you, Chris," Piper said carefully.

Instead of an answer, Chris laughed, a hard, cold bark of a laugh, and Piper's face went blotchy in the way it always did when she was about to cry.

"I'm going to get the main dish," she murmured, stood from the table and left the room with quick, hasty steps.

Another uncomfortable silence fell. Then Phoebe straightened, reached out, and touched Chris' hand where it lay motionless on the table.

"She's terribly nervous, Chris," she said matter-of-factly, making sure that it didn't sound like an excuse. "And the idea of a child dating is horror for any parent. You're not even born yet. Give it time."

He met her eyes openly, and Paige, who sat to the right of Phoebe and had a good view of his face, saw that he looked absolutely exhausted.

"You're sure that's the reason?" He asked. "Or don't you think that Piper has, in the time-honoured Halliwell fashion, decided to ignore the truth in favour of her rose-tinted view of the world? I don't want to spend the rest of my life as a good boy gone wrong, with my mother looking at me and imagining how I could have turned out if times hadn't been so difficult."

"That's not what she meant," Paige said softly, and his eyes snapped to hers.

"That's exactly what she meant," he disagreed, daring her to repeat her lie. She couldn't.

Chris sighed.

"Look," he said. "I think we have achieved what we wanted to. We can hold a decent conversation without killing each other. Just do your best with mini-me, and we'll see each other in about twenty years."

He rose from his chair, and Sarah followed his example.

Phoebe and Paige shared a helpless look. They had talked about this possibility, that the meeting simply might not work out, and as much as it had hurt both of them, they had decided to accept it should it happen. Chris had made so many compromises for them already.

So they stood, too, hoping for at least a chance to say goodbye properly, for a last hug. But Leo stayed in his seat, stretching out a hand towards his son instead.

"Please, Chris," he said. "Can't you try? For your mother? It would mean so much to her."

Again, something in Chris' face twisted and his eyes became hard as stone.

"I _have _tried, as far as I'm aware," he said coldly.

"But we haven't even eaten yet. She has spent so much time on this meal, and so looking forward to seeing you again. Don't you think it would be a little unfair to leave so early?"

Chris stiffened. His hand reached out blindly, and Sarah took it and clasped it. They didn't even seem to be aware that they were touching.

"You don't get to say that to me," Chris whispered, his voice like ice. "Not you! Not after what you did to us!"

His grip on Sarah's hand tightened, but she didn't make a sound.

Leo, on the other hand, sighed. To Paige it sounded like the desperate frustration she knew he felt, but she was aware that to Chris, who'd only ever seen his father in the worst possible light, it must sound like exasperation.

"What did I do that was so bad, Chris?" Leo asked, honestly wanting to know. "Tell me, please!"

Leo sounded so tired, so hurt, and Paige's heart bled for him, but from Chris' expression it was very clear that her young nephew was too far gone to notice the pain in his father's voice.

"You should ask what you _didn't_ do," he hissed, and again Paige was shocked at how freely he was speaking about the past/future, as if that long year of 'future consequences' had never happened. "All the times you weren't there for Mom and me when we wanted you, all the birthdays you missed, all the hours I spent waiting for you, and you never came. Even when I needed you the most, and I screamed for you, screamed as loud as I could – you didn't come."

Leo looked as if his heart was breaking.

"I'm so sorry, Chris," he whispered. "I can't imagine what you've gone through. But… that wasn't me. That hasn't happened yet. Perhaps you came back not only to change Wyatt, but to give us another chance? I will do everything in my power to be a good father to you, I swear. I'll do right by you this time around."

Chris snorted harshly.

"That's rich, coming from the person who's done nothing but stand in my way this past year. When you attacked me with a sword, or threw me across the room and threatened me, when you refused to give me an antidote to the poison that would have killed me – wasn't that you, either, Leo?"

Leo closed his eyes.

"Yes," he confessed quietly, painfully. "That was me. I have no excuses. But I'm sorry."

Chris stared at him with burning eyes, and for a moment, Paige wondered if he would hit his father, attack him, or start to cry. His hand was still gripping Sarah's tightly, and his other was clenched to a fist, vibrating with tension.

"I will never…" he began.

That was the moment when Piper bustled in, carrying a huge dish of lasagna with the help of two bright yellow oven mitts. The contrast was almost painful, but at least it stopped Chris from finishing a sentence that would most probably have destroyed his father.

Instead, his eyes zeroed in on his mother's expectant face, who couldn't possibly understand why they were all standing around the table, instead of waiting for the next course.

"I think we should end the evening before something nasty happens," he said shortly. "It's been great, but Sarah and I are both tired."

He ignored Piper's shocked protests, Leo's devastated face and Phoebe's pleas, and stepped away from the table with Sarah to orb them both out…

… when other orb lights interrupted them all, sinking down from the ceiling and forming into the figures of two men, clad in golden, shimmering Elder robes.

"Brilliant," Paige heard Phoebe murmur angrily. "Just what we needed."

With an effort obvious to anyone who knew him, Leo pulled himself together, stood, and stepped towards the Elders, his posture eerily mirroring that of the other two men.

Suddenly it was all so real again, Piper and Leo's split-up, the fact that he didn't belong to them anymore, that the change that would cause the distance between him and his son had already happened.

It hurt to see him this way.

"Marcus, Sebastian," he greeted them by name. "Why are you here?"

"We bring news," one of the Elders intoned with their usual mixture of grandeur and real dignity. "The Council of Elders has come to a decision concerning the time travellers Christopher Perry Halliwell and the girl Hand. We have passed judgement on them and are here to inform you of their fate."

And that was when their attempt at dinner deteriorated into utter chaos.

* * *

A/N: I will upload the next chapter as soon as possible. If you're still out there and reading this, review, please!


	43. The Chariot's Coming

A/N: Thank you for welcoming me back so warmly!

* * *

**The Chariot's Coming**

Chris was behaving like a brat, and he knew it. He also knew that he should pull himself together, but the tight knot of hurt, pain and anger in his chest simply wouldn't let him.

He'd braced himself before coming here tonight. He really hadn't expected much from this dinner – or so he kept telling himself.

But the truth behind their outward acceptance and love, the realization that once again his mother was not seeing _him_, but had twisted him into a likeness of her ideals that she could live with – that still hurt. And it made him angry.

He couldn't say if things would have gone better had she not mentioned the 'difficult times' he'd been through, with an apologetic face and an all too visible eagerness to sweep his whole life under the carpet of that label and forget everything about it.

Chris knew very well what trauma experts meant when they used the word 'trigger', and he knew this was one. He knew that she couldn't possibly be aware what her words had to sound like for him, but that didn't stop the memories from rising before his eyes.

That didn't stop his mind from transforming this house into that half deserted, cold and echoing place it had become after his mother's death, the comfortable domestic clutter turning into chaos because two teenagers couldn't keep up with the housework, especially not with one of them busy recruiting demons for his secret plan of world domination.

It didn't stop him from remembering how the Manor had looked the day he had confronted Wyatt with ultimate proof of what the Twice Blessed had turned into – the fine layer of dust on the furniture, the dead potted plants on the window sills, the greasy impression of finger prints on the table he couldn't bring himself to wipe away, because one of the finger prints might be that of his mother, and cleaning it off was like killing her all over again.

He remembered how he had faced Wyatt in this very room and across this very table, with a voice that was breaking with the tears he cried (he had not yet learned to pretend he didn't care). How he had told Wyatt that something was wrong with him, that he needed to stop, stop now, or he would destroy everything their mother had ever stood for.

"I know it's not you, Wyatt," he had whispered, argued, pleaded. "I know there's something inside you that's doing this. You would never hurt anyone. You're good. You're my brother. But you can't go on like this. You can't! And I can't let you!"

He remembered how Wyatt had laughed it all away, again, telling Chris that what he did was necessary to keep them safe and that it would all work out in the end.

"Don't worry, Chris, I'll keep you safe."

He remembered the taste of his own tears on his skin. He remembered how young he had been, how naïve, how _stupid_.

He remembered how he had offered Wyatt the _servilis_-spell, explained it, watched his brother's face harden as he read the theory and description of the spell.

"Please, Wyatt," he had begged. "If you love me, if this family means anything to you – please stop. We can use the spell or not, if you think you can do it another way, but you have to stop this, if not for yourself, then for me!"

He remembered how Wyatt had looked at him for a long time, eyes narrowed, and something about his face had sent a tendril of fear down Chris' spine. It was the first time in his life he'd been truly afraid of his brother.

Then Wyatt had crumpled Chris' notes on the spell and put them in his pocket, careless that he was crushing Chris' hopes along with them.

"Brother," he'd said, in that honeyed voice of his. The Elders had trained him as a public speaker, because he would have to address crowds again and again in his life, being the heir of Excalibur, and Wyatt's rhetorics had always been excellent.

"Chris. These past months were difficult for all of us, and I know you're still adapting to what happened. I know you're missing Mom. I know you've been disappointed by Dad. But don't take it out on me."

This was the way all their talks had gone, and, worse, all the talks with his aunts and uncles, too. Every conversation always turned to his parents, as if no one could imagine that Chris was more than a grieving, confused child, that Chris had actually seen something they were missing. And Wyatt had been using that ruthlessly.

"That's not what this is about, Wyatt," Chris had said wretchedly. "It's about you recruiting demons for something that looks very much like an army. It's about you performing magic in public! It's about the magical community that's beginning to fear you. Some even claim that you've been killing _innocents_, Wyatt."

Wyatt just shrugged. He ignored Chris' words like he had ignored his proof, like he had ignored the spell. It was as if nothing Chris did could touch him, as if no argument could even reach him. His blazing conviction made a sick, desperate feeling rise in Chris' stomach.

"I know things have been hard for you, Chris, and it's natural to lash out when everything becomes too much, especially against family. But we only have each other. We _belong_ to each other, and once you're through this rebellious phase, you'll realize that I'm only doing this for you. I'm trying to keep you safe in these difficult times."

Chris would have laughed, if his last hopes hadn't turned to ash just minutes ago.

"You think this is a _phase_?" He had asked, fighting the mad urge to scream. "You think this is just because times are _difficult_? You are mad, Wyatt!"

Wyatt's face grew stern. He looked every inch the concerned brother, and even now Chris wanted to trust him desperately, wanted it so much that his head hurt.

"If there's anyone here that's mad it is you, Chris. And I'm beginning to think I should keep a closer look on you, reign you in a bit to make sure you don't endanger yourself. Perhaps you shouldn't leave this house for a while… yes, that would be best."

Chris stared at him.

"You're going to lock me in?" He asked, not believing his eyes. "_That's_ your solution? Lock the only person who can see what you're doing away, until it's too late to stop you? I'm sorry, but I can't let that happen, Wyatt."

As if he could see that Chris was on the verge of orbing out, Wyatt's face hardened.

"You're hurting no one but yourself, Chris," he said. "And you're destroying the last family we have in the process. Don't you think the aunts have told me what lies you've been spreading about me? Don't you think I know you've been following me around? It's as if you _want_ to make things harder for me."

He sighed.

"Have you ever considered that this behaviour of yours is what made Dad retreat to the heavens? Can't you even _try_, Chris? Just a little bit? You know what family meant to Mom. I know you're taking this so hard because you're responsible for her death, but still, she would be _so_ disappointed in you."

Even as Wyatt's words hit him like a fist, even as his eyes filled and the tears spilled over on his face, he understood what his brother was doing to him. He understood that his pain was only a tool to Wyatt.

"You… you've gone bad!" He whispered. He'd known it before, intellectually, but it had taken this, his brother using his worst fears against him without remorse to truly convince him. "You've turned into someone else, Wyatt, no matter what you say. You may have started out as my brother, but I can't even recognize you anymore!"

He took a deep breath that didn't manage to steady him.

"You have made a choice, Wyatt. But so have I. And I tell you now – if you continue in the direction you're going, I won't just watch from the sidelines. I love you, and I will always love you, brother, but if you declare war on this world, I'll be standing against you, defending it with everything I have."

They had stood facing each other across this very table, in a house devoid of life. For an eternity they had stood, locking gazes, gauging the other's intentions.

Until finally, Wyatt broke the duel of stares. He looked down at the table, swiping his hand over the dusty surface, and there were no emotions left on his face.

"Very well," he said. "If that's your decision, Chris. To abandon me. To abandon everything this family meant to us."

Chris' felt himself shiver, and with a determination he hadn't known he possessed, he willed himself to be strong, not to break down in front of a brother that had become his enemy.

"That is my decision, Wyatt," he had whispered.

"Then so be it," Wyatt had agreed, and in the next moment, an energy ball from his hand had ripped a hole into Chris' side, splattering the table and the wall behind him with his blood and flesh.

Chris had been fifteen when he'd nearly died by his brother's hands for the first time.

* * *

So no, Chris couldn't _try_, not even for his mother, because if there was one thing that had carried him through fire and death, it was the decisions he had made, the person he had become, and he would not be ashamed of that, nor consider it a flaw when it was, in fact, the thing that had saved his family.

Perhaps he was broken, but even broken he was stronger than most people.

And in that moment, sitting silently at the table that wouldn't witness the final break between him and his brother now that he'd changed the future, in that moment Chris realized that all this back and forth between him and his family meant nothing, really. It all boiled down to one question: After all he had sacrificed, was he willing to sacrifice his integrity, too?

"_This above all: to thine own self be true,"_ Polonius had told his son Laertes, and it was good advice, even though Polonius would be the first one to be killed when Hamlet slashed through the Gordian knot of his family.

Once more he let his eyes sweep across the table. He had lied for such a long time. In the past, because it had been a necessity. In the future, because they had needed him to be someone he wasn't.

But he had lied enough. And if there was one freedom he had earned for himself, it was to be who he was. He was done pretending.

That decision gave him the strength to stop the situation from escalating. It gave him the strength to cut through the emotional chaos of his mind. It gave him the strength to decide to leave.

And it was in that moment of clarity that the orb lights of Marcus and Sebastian filled the room.

"We bring news," Marcus said, and the satisfaction in his voice had Chris tense and anticipating the worst. Marcus had never liked him. "The Council of Elders has come to a decision concerning the time travellers Christopher Perry Halliwell and the girl Hand. We have passed judgement on them and are here to inform you of their fate."

For a moment, there was complete and utter silence.

"What do you mean, _judgement_," Phoebe then asked.

And Chris couldn't help himself. He burst into laughter.

* * *

Of course.

_Of course_.

He couldn't even be surprised by this turn of events. He had fulfilled his mission and even come to a decision concerning his future. But of course it couldn't be over. Of course there had to be yet another twist, yet another way in which his life was completely messed up. And now that the villain was gone, who else to step in but the so-called guardians of good, who had only ever made his life more difficult, anyway.

His family around the table were shooting him anxious looks, and he realized that he was acting like a madman, standing in front of the two pompous immortals, cackling hysterically. But he couldn't bring himself to care.

"Let me guess," he asked, still unable to control his amusement. "You have sentenced me to something, right? Because of my crimes? Oh, I bet it will be something awesome, something only the oldest bureaucracy of creation could ever come up with. Do you have the forms with you? In triplicate, perhaps?"

Sarah was twitching by his side, and a glance showed him that she seemed to be torn between sharing his amusement and real worry.

"This behaviour is entirely uncalled for, Christopher," Sebastian reprimanded him, just as Leo raised his hand towards him and said, in a voice that was probably meant to calm him: "Chris, please…"

"Oh, sure," Chris answered, unable to stop himself and not really caring. "Just give me a moment to prepare myself, so that I can take it like a man!"

Marcus' face reddened. He looked about ready to abandon his Elder calm and force Chris into behaving, but the red of his face and the gold of his robes made such a fetching contrast that Chris could only laugh harder.

Until he felt Sarah's shoulder bumping against his.

"If you laugh too hard," she whispered to him. "You won't be very good at running and dodging."

That thought sobered him up.

He took a few hiccuppy breaths, then steadied himself and tried to pretend he actually cared. They were, after all, the bosses of the universe.

"Bring it on, then," he said. "What did I do? Orbing without blinking? Misuse of cleaning charms? General bad attitude?"

Marcus glared at him.

"You killed an Elder," he said accusingly.

Chris burst into laughter again, just as about everyone else in the room started shouting.

"Thank you," he told the Elders after he had somewhat recovered and the general chaos had died down a bit. "I really, really needed that."

"This is no joking matter, Christopher," Sebastian said warningly. "We are entirely serious, and so is the offense you've been found guilty of. Can you deny that Gideon had suffered debilitating injuries _before_ you stopped his heart with your powers? Can you deny that his death was a gratuitous killing that occurred not in the heat of battle or in self defence, but for calculated reasons?"

"You must be joking!" Piper protested. "Gideon has been trying to kill Wyatt for months, he's been plotting away in front of your eyes, and he's attacked me and my sisters several times! Chris has prevented a catastrophe, and you're going to punish him for that?"

Marcus just raised a hand.

"Chris," he demanded. "An answer, please."

Chris sobered at the memory of that moment – Gideon lying before him, bleeding from the head, almost helpless but already recuperating, already gathering his wits and powers for the next attack. The Elders were right. He had made the decision to kill him. There might have been other options he hadn't been willing to risk, and so he'd decided to end a life.

But he was not about to tell them that.

"Gideon was badly hurt, yes," he said, serious now. "But so was I. Sarah had no power left and was unconscious, and I didn't know how long I could stay awake. Gideon was injured, but he wouldn't have given in. He would have killed both of us if I hadn't moved first."

"Why didn't you call for help?" Marcus asked snidely. "Leo or the Charmed Ones, or any other Elder. "You could have asked for assistance, which would have eliminated the need to kill a defenceless man."

"Defenceless?" Piper shouted, but Leo stopped her quickly. Her protests would only rile the Elders further.

Chris shrugged.

"I'm not used to getting help from outside," he commented. "The thought didn't even occur to me."

"So you had enough presence of mind to stop a man's heart, but not enough to shout a name?" Marcus, disbelieving now.

Chris sent him a long look.

"You've never actually _been_ in a battle, have you, Marcus?" He asked pleasantly. "If you had, you wouldn't bother with such a stupid question."

"This attitude will not help you, Chris," Sebastian cut in. "As we said, we have incontrovertible evidence of your offense. We have already passed justice. This visit serves merely to inform you."

Suddenly, Chris felt the clarity of understanding return. What could they do to him, really? His job was done, his mission was fulfilled, and he had finally understood who he was. Even if they decided to erase him – he was free. And he had evaded Wyatt – how could they ever hope to catch him and keep him contained?

So he shrugged again.

But the rest of the room didn't share that view on the situation

"You aren't here so serve justice," Sarah said sharply. "You're here because a simple whitelighter had the power to kill an Elder, and that frightens you. You want to make sure that something like this can never happen again."

"You would be wise to remember your precarious situation, girl," Marcus shot back. "You are not in your own time, and the judgement does pertain to you also."

That jolted Chris awake.

"Just a moment," he protested. "To be quite clear: Sarah had no hand in killing Gideon. She was unconscious at the time. So unless you want to convict her of fighting evil, which would be hypocritical even for you, you had better wave _her_ judgement now, or I will call on the Tribunal and run circles around you until I die a natural death. Don't believe I can't do it, Elders."

Marcus' eyes narrowed calculatingly.

"Does that mean you won't try to evade your sentence if we acquit the girl?"

"No it doesn't," Sarah said, but the Elder simply ignored her.

Looking back, that moment would always surprise Chris. He was a thinker. He had always been a thinker. Even in the worst moments of his life – his mom dying in his arms, his brother slicing into his body, his fiancé bleeding out in front of him – he hadn't stopped thinking. His mind was always busy, calculating, summing up risks and options, running through possible solutions, planning three, five, seven steps ahead like a chess player.

He had hated himself for that more than once, even though it was the very thing that had kept him alive. He had wondered what it was like to not think, to just know, in that instinctual, absolute way that seemed to come so easily to other people.

It came to him now.

As if his newfound clarity had only been the first rung of a ladder, he stepped up to a higher ground, and there, with a beautiful simplicity, lay an answer waiting for him, an answer he didn't feel the need to question.

"Yes," he said, feeling calm and strangely happy and so, _so _light. "It does."

Now they were all shouting around him again, and Sarah's hand in his – he was still holding her hand? – tightened painfully around him ("don't do this, Chris, please, don't do this," she was whispering over and over again), but the Elders ignored all that to close their eyes and commune with the Council, and Chris ignored it, too, bathing in the feeling of serenity that was so new to him and felt so good.

Let them shout. He didn't have to anymore.

"We agree," Marcus then said. "The girl is acquitted. She can go her way."

He hesitated, then added: "I am surprised you would give yourself for her freedom willingly, Christopher. I didn't peg you as the selfless type."

That caused another storm from his family, but again, Chris simply shrugged.

"I'm done here," he said. "I can do with my life what I want. What's the sentence?"

Silence descended on the room abruptly as everyone stopped arguing and shouting and listened instead.

Marcus took a deep, artificially long breath. He was enjoying this, the bastard, and if he hadn't been so drunk with serenity, Chris would have wished him an aneurysm.

"The Council acknowledges that your efforts to protect our world are commendable and have to be taken in account. However, your questionable morals and your knowledge about that different future pose a threat to this very world. Therefore, the Council has decided to return you to the future and erase your memories. You will merge with your alternate self and remember neither the future you come from nor your time in the past."

For a heartbeat, no one reacted at all. Then Chris nodded.

"That actually does sound astonishingly fair," he commented, surprised.

Then waited for another chorus of protests to pass.

"Did you say fair?" Phoebe asked him finally. "Chris, what they're proposing is to basically delete you!"

"No," he disagreed. Inside himself, he searched for a way to explain what he was feeling.

_I could go anywhere I wanted,_ he had told Sarah on Golden Gate bridge just a few days ago, although it felt like another life, _be anybody I ever wanted to be, hell, be a nobody, do __anything__!_

And she had told him that this feeling, this lightness descending on his shoulder that he was experiencing again this very moment, that it was what other people called freedom.

"It's a fresh start," he said. "A chance for the other me to become what I didn't."

Freedom, he mused. He'd fought for it all his life, it seemed, but never really for himself. In fact, the thought of what he would do with it had never really occurred to him.

"I will probably live a happier life this way, an easier one, certainly."

Freedom. Perhaps the only way he could ever experience freedom was this: To not fight anymore, to step away from the battle field, allow himself to feel his own exhaustion, and not fight. Just let things happen. Just accept, not rage and claw and bleed.

"But what makes you unique," Phoebe protested. "Your experience, your memories, the things that shaped your personality, would be gone!"

She looked and sounded distressed, and suddenly Chris felt so tired of this charade, of the endless need to keep up and ahead and control and assert himself, that he flung all tactic and strategy to the winds. Why couldn't they just all tell the truth for once?

"But would that really be so bad?" He asked and saw the sisters and Leo flinch. "I mean, the other me would be born and grow up as a Halliwell, and never be bothered by my terrible character traits. It might be easier for all of us, and at least I would turn out less neurotic and be able to a good night's sleep without nightmares, right? I might have a better destiny this time around. I might not be so broken."

Despite the twinge of bitterness he couldn't help but feel (_No good deed goes unpunished)_, he felt the truth of his words sink into his being. As long as Sarah got to decide her own fate, he would be okay with this solution.

He could rest.

"I won't fight the sentence."

There. He'd said it. Now they only had to agree. They wouldn't even have to argue and agonise over how to justify this to themselves, and pretend that they wanted him instead of the perfect boy they might have had. They only had to agree. And he was sure Leo would be the first to do it, he had only ever seen Chris as a threat, after all…

"But _I_ will."

* * *

A/N: The title of this chapter refers to the gospel song "Good News":

Good news! The chariot's coming,

and I don't want it to leave me behind.

There's a pair of wings in the heaven I know,

and I don't want it to leave me behind.

Good news! The chariot's coming,

and I don't want it to leave me behind.

xXx

I hope I'll be able to update at the beginning of next week, but my schedule's pretty busy. Feel free to motivate me, though! In other words:

Review, please!


	44. What Ship Would Come to Me

_"I won't fight the sentence."_

_There. He'd said it. Now they only had to agree. They wouldn't even have to argue and agonise over how to justify this to themselves, and pretend that they wanted him instead of the perfect boy they might have had. They only had to agree. And he was sure Leo would be the first to do it, he had only ever seen Chris as a threat, after all…_

_"But __I__ will."_

* * *

**What Ship Would Come to Me**

Chris blinked. That had been Leo's voice, strong and steady as he'd seldom heard it in his life. It was a voice that left no room for argument.

But it hadn't said the words he'd expected.

"If you want to take my son from me, you will have to fight me," that was Piper, and she sounded like the earth goddess again, not willing to budge an inch.

"You will have to fight all of us." Phoebe.

"And you know how well that worked out the last time." Paige.

Chris blinked again, not sure what had happened to the world he'd known. One moment they'd been in the middle of a terrible row, and now his parents and aunts were standing between him and the shell-shocked Elders, presenting a united front and protecting him and Sarah.

He knew the way they were standing, shoulder to shoulder, heads straight. It was the way they stood right before they headed into battle.

He looked to his left, and saw how Sarah's lips were white with anger, how her eyes were narrowed, taking in everything around her. He noticed the knife she held half hidden at her side in a white-knuckled grip. And realized: The only thing that stopped her from attacking two Elders to protect him was the fact that he was still holding her hand.

"Do you realize what you are saying, Leo?" Marcus now asked, his voice quite a bit higher. "We have come to expect this sort of disobedience from your former charges, but you will stand against your brethren?"

Leo looked as if he wanted to punch Marcus, a part of Chris' mind realized, while the rest of him was still busy staring at his family and friend, ready to fight for him. Had this been all that was needed? Did he just have to give up so that someone else would step forward and take over the fight? Was this what his mother and aunts used to talk about, before they died, when they'd said that family needed to stick together no matter what?

"Chris is a hero," Leo said, and Chris almost burst out laughing again, but Leo's face was completely serious. "He has sacrificed too much already. We will not allow this."

Again, Marcus' face grew red with anger, and suddenly, Chris was worried. The Elders _could_ punish his family, after all. They could take away their powers and leave them helpless, or even recycle Leo's soul, and while his relationship with his father had never been easy, Chris didn't intend to be responsible for his death, either.

"It's okay," he therefore tried to calm them all down. "What's another sacrifice? One for the road, eh?"

Too late he realized that sarcasm wasn't really the best way to pacify his family.

"Look," he tried again. "This really isn't worth…"

"Stop talking, Chris," his mother told him without taking her eyes off the Elders. "You're not going to convince us that you're expendable. Sarah, if they try anything at all, flame him out and don't come back here. Understood?"

"Understood," Sarah agreed and grabbed his hand tighter.

"This is ridiculous," Marcus argued, his voice tight and angry. "We have allowed the Charmed Ones a certain leeway over the years, but clearly that has only served to make you forget your place. _We_ are the highest authority, and you _will_ obey our decisions."

"_You_ are guys who watched while one of you tried to kill Wyatt," Paige shot back, _really_ angry now. "And now you plan to punish the man who sacrificed everything because _you_ didn't do your job properly!"

Marcus raised his hands. He looked about ready to exercise his authority now.

"If you prove recalcitrant, it is the Council's right to remove your powers, Paige Matthews. You will respect our decision. We will _not_ be crossed in this!"

"Oh, yeah?" Piper asked, and raised her hands in turn.

This would not end well.

And then Leo took a deep breath, lowered the hands he had raised in protest, and something in Chris' chest tightened and loosened at the same time. This was what he'd been waiting for.

"Perhaps they are right, Piper," Leo said. "Fighting over this is no solution."

He turned to the other Elders.

"Can we respectfully request a reconsideration of the Council's decision?" He asked. "Please take into account what Chris has done for this world, and what the Charmed Ones have done. There must be a way to lighten the sentence."

Marcus looked as if he wanted to disagree and bring the situation to a head, but Sebastian, whose eyes had flickered from enraged witch to enraged witch for the past minute, stopped him quickly.

"We shall grant your request," he intoned magnanimously. "But Chris will have to come with us, I'm afraid."

Sarah's hand on Chris' wrist tightened again, cutting off his circulation. She opened her mouth to a snarl…

"I give you my word as an Elder that Chris will not stir from this Manor," Leo said. "You may take away his power to orb if you wish. We will keep him here until you return."

Yes, Chris thought, the tightening in his chest increasing. It was getting hard to hold onto his new serenity with all this drama around him. This was basically what he had expected from Leo in the first place.

For a moment, it looked as if Marcus and Sebastian would disagree, but Piper's half raised hands, Phoebe's open outrage and Paige's anger convinced them to make their exit while they still could. Which didn't stop them from sweeping them all with a haughty glance, of course.

"Very well," Sebastian said slowly. "Chris' orbing ability has been removed and a tracing spell will make sure that he can't escape any other way. We will communicate your request to the Council, Leo, and return with a final verdict."

And they orbed away.

As soon as they were gone, a ripple of relief ran through the room. Phoebe and Paige took a deep breath, Piper threw her arms in the air in silent frustration, and Leo actually leaned against a wall for support. But Sarah did not let go of Chris' hand.

"That should buy us some time," Leo said. "Quick now, Chris, how did you plan to get back to your future?"

_What?_ Chris thought, then struggled to express his confusion over this new twist adequately.

"What?" He said. If the world didn't stop spinning this wildly soon, he would get seasick.

"Your return to the future," Leo repeated, as if _that_ was the most important thing about this situation. "How did you plan to do it? A potion? A spell?"

His left hand still clasped in Sarah's, Chris sat down, absently using his other hand to check his own forehead for signs of fever. First the evening had erupted into discord. Then the Elders had appeared and he'd agreed to being deleted. Then Leo had protested and the Elders had threatened them. Then Leo had relented and agreed to keep him here. And now Leo was asking questions about time travel? What the hell?

"I'm confused," he confessed. "What is going on here?"

"Oh, sweetie," Phoebe whispered, probably intending to tell him that it was no wonder, what with the shock of it all, but she was interrupted by Sarah, who withdrew her hand from Chris' grip and elbowed him in the ribs.

"Concentrate, Chris," she said sternly. "We don't have much time. What Leo said was a ruse. They intend to get you safely back to the future before the Elders return. So stop behaving like a civilian!"

Oh. That explained a lot, actually. Although Chris still found it hard to believe that his father would take a stand against the Elders, let alone even lie to them like that.

He looked up at Leo and met his eyes.

"But they will punish you for that," he protested. "They might even take your powers away, and then Wyatt would be unprotected. You can't risk…"

But Leo's eyes were steady.

"This is not open to discussion," he stated. "Now, how did you plan to get back?"

Chris was so thrown by this sudden decisiveness that he didn't even shrug off the supporting hand Leo had placed on his shoulder. Not immediately, at least.

"I didn't," he finally answered the question. "Plan it, I mean. In fact, I never even thought about this part."

"Hard to believe. I mean, you always seemed to have a plan for everything," Paige joked, trying to alleviate the atmosphere.

But Chris didn't really notice. He was still trying to work through the bewildering fact that his father was willing to stand up against his bosses, along with his whole family, and all to keep Chris safe.

"I didn't really expect to survive," he answered absently. "So planning for that possibility seemed like a waste of time. I had more important things to do, after all."

Piper made an odd, choking sound. Leo's face paled, and Paige's smile wobbled.

"Well, then _we_'ll have to do the planning for you," she said, her voice a bit hoarse. "Piece of cake, right?"

There were a lot of things Chris could have answered, a lot of ways he could have commented this outrageous statement. But his head still felt as if it was stuffed with cotton candy, and so he concentrated on the thing that seemed most important to him.

"But why?" He asked, helplessly. "You could get into a lot of trouble, and all of that for someone you don't really want in your family, anyway. You should concentrate on the important stuff, here!"

Again, Piper made that choking sound, and after a moment, Chris recognized it as the way she always cleared her throat when she wanted to keep herself from crying. But when she sat down by his side and took the hand Sarah had only recently let go of, her eyes were dry and her voice was steady.

"We _want_ you, Chris," she said clearly, leaving no room for doubt. "We might not understand you very well, and we have made a mess of things, but we do want you. We have as much right to fight for the family we love as you have, don't you think? Let us do this for you."

And Chris looked up into Piper's eyes, and saw her willingness to stand up for him, and her love, and for the first time since he'd come to the past, he recognised his mother in her.

"Okay," he said, not liking how small his voice sounded, how vulnerable. He was the leader of the Resistance, damn it, not a little boy, and there were larger things at play here than how he was feeling, how she was feeling. But somehow, he couldn't bring himself to tell her that.

"Okay," he whispered.

* * *

As the evening progressed and research was being conducted at dizzying speed, Paige found herself thankful for every single magic lesson her sisters had made her take. She was also thankful for Leo, whose quiet strength had snapped back into place with a vengeance and was now keeping all of them upright, together and going.

But most of all, she was thankful for Sarah's presence, who was a mean hand at potions, knew a good deal more about time travel than all of them, and, most importantly, was actually willing and able to answer questions, in contrast to the bewildered Chris.

To be honest, his confusion and shock was, in turn, confusing Paige so much that she couldn't for the life of her concentrate properly. So when Sarah grabbed her arm and towed her off to the attic, to 'search for ingredients', she didn't even think about questioning her.

Only when Sarah had positioned them in the middle of the attic and began whispering a spell did Paige remember that they kept their ingredients in the kitchen. But by then Sarah had already started talking, and what she said drove every other thought from Paige's mind.

"Listen, Paige," she said, dead serious. "Chris would never allow me to tell you this, but you need to know a few things. Listen closely. You won't be able to write this down, in case someone finds it, so you must make sure you remember it."

"What?" Paige asked, totally confused.

"On March 3rd, 2009, a clan of demons will attack Phoebe at work and she'll barely get out alive. When you go to vanquish them, do _not_ leave the children in the Manor. Take them to Magic School, or to the Elders, but don't leave them on this plane."

"I… what?" Paige repeated, even though the date and the advice seared into her mind like writing on a stone and she knew she would never forget this. "Why are telling me this? I'd think Phoebe or Piper…"

Again, Sarah fixed her with hard eyes that held a strange, desperate urge.

"Of all the sisters, you stay alive the longest in my future. You are also the only Charmed One who can keep her mouth shut and act quickly when the moment comes. They must not know the things I tell you, or the future could be changed in terrible ways. Now listen: On Chris' fourteenth birthday, you and Phoebe were busy, so you only arrived at the Manor in the late afternoon. Don't, under any circumstances, come that late. Arrive for breakfast and stay the day. Don't be late!"

"So you're telling me when we'll be in danger? Is that it?" Paige asked while memorizing the date.

"Not every time you'll be in danger," Sarah corrected her absently. "Danger will be part of your lives, and many events are necessary for the future to unfold in the right way. Perhaps some things will not occur, now that we've changed Wyatt's destiny, perhaps things will be different. But there are some… moments… that really shouldn't happen this time around. It would be better for all of you."

In that moment, Paige realized that Sarah was handing her an incomparable treasure, here, the chance for a better future, and she knew that she would keep this close to her heart and guard it with her life.

"Why?" She whispered, shocked that Sarah would go directly against Chris' wishes and all his convictions.

"Because he won't do this for himself," Sarah answered calmly. "You saw him just now. The thought of making things better for himself doesn't even occur to him. So I'll take care of that."

She took a deep breath.

"Now Listen: November the fifth, 2018…" she continued, leaving no further room for questions.

And so Paige closed her mouth, and nodded, and concentrating on remembering every single one of the events when she would have to save her family.

* * *

A/N: The title of this chapter is a quotation from Galadriel's Song in the "The Lord of the Rings":

_O Lórien! The Winter comes, the bare and leafless Day;_

_The leaves are falling in the stream, the River flows away._

_O Lórien! Too long I have dwelt upon this Hither Shore_

_And in a fading crown have twined the golden elanor._

_But if of ships I now should sing, what ship would come to me,_

_What ship would bear me ever back across so wide a Sea?_

* * *

_**A/N: Okay, dearest readers, here's the deal: We've talked about a sequel, which is pretty fleshed out in my mind, but the truth is that things are so busy right now that I honestly don't know when I'll be able to write it. So I've thought long and hard how to give you at least a hint of what I promised for the time being, and this is my idea:**_

_**I'll finish the story as planned, then add a long two-chapter epilogue that takes place in the future. This way, you at least get to see our characters arrive and the repercussions of that. Should I have time to start the sequel, I'll just take the epilogue down and flesh it out as the beginning of the story. **_

_**What do **_**you**_** think? Do you like the idea?**_


	45. Hopes and Fears

**Hopes and Fears**

Phoebe wasn't sure what broke her heart more – the way Chris kept looking at them all in astonishment, as if he expected their support and determination to die away any minute, how he just couldn't believe they'd really fight for him, or the way Sarah just got down to work without comment, not wondering about her own future once, not even seeming to realize that this was a rescue planned for her as much as for Chris.

These time travellers were really, really messed up.

And while Leo and Piper threw themselves into finding a way to get them back to a future that was now suddenly safer than the presence, while Paige was brewing potions and writing spells by the dozen, Phoebe seemed to be the only one who recognized how important this moment was, both to the present and the future.

So she decided to make time for it. That was something she'd always been good at, she thought, making time for the really important things.

She started with Chris.

"Hey," she greeted him as she joined him at the kitchen table, where he was sorting through their collection of various crystals.

"Hey," he said quietly, still subdued, then looked at her and opened his mouth, probably to protest again that going against the Elders could get them into trouble, so she cut him off.

"You need to allow us to do this, Chris. For us, if not for you," she said calmly. "I mean, look at them," she pointed at Piper and Leo, who were pouring over their books, trying to find a spell they could modify.

Chris' eyes were a bit wide as she followed the direction her finger was pointing at. He still looked steamrolled, like he was waiting in quiet panic for the other shoe to drop, and Phoebe really wanted to pretend she couldn't understand his trepidation. Unfortunately, looking back at the past months, she really, really could. Chris hadn't had many breaks with them, and every break had been followed by a larger outburst very quickly.

He was probably going mad trying to anticipate the turnaround.

"I'm looking at them," he now said, obviously expecting her to add an explanation to the order.

Phoebe sighed.

"They're together," she said. "Working on this. Trying to protect you. They haven't spend that much time together without quarrelling since before you came to the past, and now they're back to being a team as if all that never happened. They will make this family work, although maybe they don't know it yet. And it's because of you."

Chris actually managed to snort at that, although it was a pale shadow of his usual disbelieving snort.

"Right," he said, sending Leo the evil eye. "Forgive me if I don't believe that for a minute."

Phoebe sighed.

"If anyone's got the right to be sceptical, it's you," she told him. "I'm just saying."

Something in her tone must have alerted him, for he suddenly, visibly pulled himself together, sat up, and met her eyes.

"Saying what?" He asked.

"That you don't have to _do_ anything, Chris," she said quietly. "You just have to allow us to help you now, and then time will do the work. They can never hope to convince you they're serious, or even give good reasons why you should forgive them. But they will spend the next twenty years proving that they love you and that they're proud of you, and when we'll meet the next time, you'll know."

And the look he gave her, that weird mixture of longing for that knowledge and cynical disbelief, broke her heart all over again (Chris was uncannily good at that), and so all she could do was pat his shoulder helplessly and pray to everyone who would listen that she would be right and that, twentysomething years from now, he'd understand.

She tried next with Sarah, and for some reason she'd entertained the mad idea that this talk would leave her less heart sore. But she'd forgotten the special branch of tragedy surrounding the girl, tragic all the more because Sarah didn't even seem to notice that her perception of reality was different from others'.

So Phoebe really should have been prepared for her reaction when she sidled closer to the girl, the two of them finally alone in the kitchen for a moment, and commented on what she simply couldn't leave uncommented:

"You've been very quiet about your part in this," she said. "I mean, I assume you're going to go back with Chris, but you haven't mentioned it. In fact, you've been pretending it doesn't concern you these past hours."

Sarah didn't look up from the potion she was brewing – their most promising attempt so far at creating something that would get both her and Chris back to their future safely.

"That's because I don't want to draw Chris' attention to it," she answered dryly. "And I'd thank you not to talk about it while he's in the room. He doesn't need that on top of everything."

"But aren't you wondering about what your future's gonna be like? I mean, will you be with your family, what will you be doing? Perhaps you'll be going to college or have a kid…" Phoebe asked, baffled.

Sarah just shook her head.

"I'm quite sure what my future will be like," she said. For a moment, her jaws clenched visibly, although her hand held the stirring rod without shaking. "And it's not something I want to talk about."

Phoebe looked at her in alarm. This was the girl that had talked about her own enslavement without hesitation, the girl that had been able to tell her the story of Chris and Wyatt without blinking. And she was getting emotional about her future?

"What do you mean?" She asked carefully. "Aren't you looking forward to it?"

Sarah gave her a glance that was actually pitying, although some hint of pain distorted the expression.

"Just because Wyatt is safe and Chris will grow up happier doesn't mean there won't be evil in the future. It doesn't mean things will be better for everyone."

Well, of course Phoebe knew that their fight wouldn't simply stop, and she was quite aware that, as long as they were witches, this family would be endangered, but…

"Wait, what?" She asked. "Not better? How could things not be better for you in the future? Wyatt won't enslave you, so you'll be…"

"The possession of another warlock that might not have Lord Wyatt's powers but still didn't mind hurting me a bit?" Sarah said quietly. "Exactly."

She was carefully not looking at Phoebe, her eyes fixed on the potion she was stirring instead, and the fact that she could extend such concentration and effort on a means to get her back to… _that_, the fact that she hadn't mentioned her fears – it blew Phoebe right out of the water.

"What?" She asked again, sounding almost as bewildered as Chris. "But… how can you know that? I mean, perhaps things will go well! Perhaps Wyatt not turning evil will change the balance and your particular warlock will be vanquished. In fact," she continued, growing excited. "Why don't you give me his name, and we'll make sure that he isn't around to imprison you!"

Sarah gave her the ghost of a smile.

"That's very kind," she said as if Phoebe had offered to make her tea. "But I'm afraid it won't work. Let's concentrate on the potion, yes?"

"No!" Phoebe protested. "You can't tell me something like that and then just ask me to accept it. If you're afraid you'll be mistreated in the future, we have to do something! Just give me his name and when he'll take you, and I'll make sure…"

"There wasn't just _one_ warlock or demon, Phoebe," Sarah interrupted her. "It doesn't work like this. It started long before Wyatt with me, and taking out the last link of a chain won't change anything."

"Then give me the name of the _first_ person that hurt you!" Phoebe demanded. She couldn't stand this, this quiet acceptance, this fatalistic outlook on a future that would hurt Sarah. She couldn't just stand by and know that while they lived their lives, Sarah would be a prisoner.

"I can't," Sarah said shortly. "I don't remember it."

Phoebe stared at her, aghast.

"But you have to!" She protested. "You're just saying that, aren't you? You're not serious!"

Sarah laughed bitterly.

"I can't even remember the names of my parents, Phoebe," she said. "I was too young when they sold me. So how can you expect me to remember the name of the demon they sold me to?"

_No. No!_ Phoebe stared at Sarah silently, dumbstruck, overwhelmed, hoping that the girl would take those words back or that their meaning would somehow change.

Sarah just kept stirring the potion, her hands steady and her movements smooth. Phoebe could feel tears rise in her own eyes, spill over her lashes, run down her cheeks. Sarah's face was dry and rather unconcerned.

"I'm sorry," she then, finally, whispered. "I didn't know."

Sarah looked up at the distress in her voice, and her face softened.

"I know," she said. "I didn't tell you. But perhaps you'll understand now that there's nothing you can do?"

Silently, Phoebe shouted at her that, no, she couldn't understand it, much less accept that she should let such a thing happen, and silently she promised that she would find Sarah and her parents and _make_ the girl safe, even if it took her years to do it.

But she knew that Sarah wouldn't believe her promises, and so she extracted one of her own.

"As soon as you arrive in the future, you'll come to us," she said, not allowing any discussion. "Promise me that, Sarah. I need to know that you're safe and well."

Incredibly, Sarah hesitated, and with growing horror Phoebe realized that the girl was planning to avoid exactly that, to vanish into her own fate and never renew contact with the Halliwells.

"He won't have need of me anymore," she said, her words slightly too formal as they always were when she found it difficult to express something. "He'll have a good life. He'll be off better without me."

And again, Phoebe felt her heart break. It wasn't fair that these two could do that to her so easily, and without even noticing. But with all the things that were not fair about this, that probably only deserved a place at the very bottom of the list.

So Phoebe pulled herself together and resorted to being sneaky.

"He'll need you more than ever," she disagreed, and although it was mainly a means to get Sarah back to them as quickly as possible, it was also true. "One part of him won't know or trust anyone in that future, though the other part will have grown up with us. That lonely part will need a friend, Sarah. Please. You must promise."

Again, Sarah hesitated, this time long enough that several minutes were filled up with uncomfortable silence. But Phoebe knew that the girl's promise had to be willing or she would disregard it, and that was a risk Phoebe wasn't willing to take.

"Yes," Sarah finally said. "I promise."

Only to vent off Phoebe's relieve by removing the stirring rod and clicking of the stove's heat.

"This is finished," she added. "And looking very good. I think it's our ticket to the future."

Phoebe nodded, relieved that they'd had this talk while there'd still be time, but before she could inform the rest of the family, a hand on her arm stopped her in her tracks.

"Don't tell Chris," Sarah whispered. "He mustn't know, or he'll refuse to let me go back, and that would put this whole mission into danger. I'm only glad he's too shocked by your behaviour to think about it."

_Well, then that's one thing the Elders have been good for today,_ Phoebe thought sarcastically, then took the hand on her arm and squeezed it comfortingly.

"I won't," she whispered back. "And I'll wait for you as much as for him, Sarah. As far as I'm concerned, you're family, too."

The she opened her mouth to call for the others.

* * *

So this was them, Piper thought blearily whenever her attention was roused from the books. Them, back to being a family, fighting against the very people who should have been their allies from the start, fighting for someone who simply wouldn't believe they'd bother. Making sure a son she'd barely even begun to know could leave her and return to a future in which everything would be different from what he knew.

At least they were together in it.

She chanced a look at Leo, who, ever since this evening had started, hadn't left her side, who even now, without really looking up from the Book of Shadows, was reaching out and taking her hand, squeezing it gently, sending a rush of warmth and reassurance through her.

Her eyes darted to Paige next, who had abandoned the books for pacing nervously up and down the room. Not that continuing research was really necessary at this point – they were all pretty sure that the potion they'd come up with would do the job better than any spell they might be able to develop in time.

She caught a glimpse of Phoebe and Sarah in the kitchen, brewing said potion and talking. Phoebe looked upset, but they were too far away to see clearly.

And then, inevitably, her eyes searched for Chris and found him sitting on the couch, a book open in front of him, but he wasn't really reading, just pretending to be occupied so that he could have a moment for himself.

He was radiating wariness. And God, how they'd failed him.

Again, Piper felt her eyes prickle, but she firmly forbade herself to cry. She also forbade herself to walk over to him and try to talk – it would only end in yet another argument, and they had neither time nor strength left for that.

No. He would see the results of her love when he'd rejoin them, years in the future. She would strew them across the slow road they'd take towards the years to come, bury them in his life like hidden treasures so that he'd find them when the other set of memories would return to him.

She wouldn't try to convince him now. She'd _prove_ herself to him, and for once, time would be her ally.

"We're done," Phoebe was shouting from the kitchen, and if her voice was strange somehow, wobbly and rougher than usual, Piper blamed the stress they'd all been under. It was going to be fine, she had known that from the moment Leo had stood up to the Elders and the sisters stepped to his side, shielding Chris. It was going to be fine, and if it would take twenty years of trying for Chris to believe her, then that would be time well invested.

"Great," she hollered back. "Everyone to the attic, then!"

They had decided that they'd try to open the portal up there, both because there was a strange symmetry to it and because it'd be difficult to find a bare stretch of wall large enough for it in the rest of the house.

Spontaneous as she usually was, Piper wished there was a way to test this potion more thoroughly – but at least the two would have enough of it return to the past if things went wrong, if, just to take up one of the many horrible scenarios running through her head, Sarah and Chris didn't merge with their future selves as they ought to and were stranded there, instead, as separate, endangered beings without power. It was kind of terrifying to think that her son would vanish like that and it would take her twenty-plus years to find out if he arrived safely…

Again, her eyes strayed to Chris, and she wondered if he was worried, too, or if he had simply forgotten how to worry for himself. It had certainly seemed so in their confrontation with the Elders, and in her mind she cursed herself and Leo and her sisters for reaffirming that belief in the past year.

She watched him carefully as he closed the book he'd been pretending to read and slowly rose from the couch, moving as if he was older than she, and suddenly she remembered something and could have hit yourself.

"Your things!" She breathed. "You have nothing with you, and we probably can't enter your place because of wards, right? Should Sarah flame over and get some of your stuff?"

He just waved the question away, not quite looking at her.

"I came with nothing," he answered absently. "And Sarah always carries her most important stuff around with her. It doesn't matter."

He walked up to the attic ahead of her, not hesitating, but also not eagerly, as if the future he was walking to left him cold, as if there was nothing he was really looking forward to in it.

She wondered about that – all his happiness about having made sure Wyatt was safe, and now he didn't want to see it for himself? – and it kept niggling at her mind. One of the many questions she would most likely never get an answer to, because now definitely wasn't the time to ask.

An then they were trudging up the stairs, Phoebe reverently carrying the potion, all of them excited and worried and bubbling with feelings, and Piper's breath caught at the abruptness of it all.

Could this really be it? It felt as if they hadn't had time to breathe ever since Sarah had dropped through that portal, as if events had built up and built up and then suddenly left them unfulfilled, the climax of it all happening without them, Gideon dying off-stage while they squabbled about other things. How could this be it?

Again, Leo found her hand and squeezed, and she looked at him, something in his eyes telling her that he felt as lost as she, that he was searching for comfort and strength in her as much as he was giving it back.

She smiled at him, although it was an effort. She smiled at her sisters, too, realizing that, although Chris might have come to the past only to save Wyatt, he'd also saved them, in a way. They had been drifting away from each other for a while, longing for separate lives, but this had brought them back together, and somehow, Piper was sure that their connection would last this time.

As if they had heard her thoughts, her sisters walked over to her, standing to the left and right of Piper, and together they blessed the potion, drawing strength from each other and from the power they formed.

It was like this, united with her sisters, Leo standing behind them in silent support, that Piper looked up from the potion and met Chris' eyes.

"You ready?" She asked, although there were so many other things she wanted to ask, _needed_ to ask, burning on her tongue. She didn't let them out. They would have time enough to talk in the future, when Chris would be safe and their hearts no longer broken.

"I guess," Chris answered unsteadily, then shrugged. "If you're sure…"

"We _are_ sure," Leo interrupted him, hesitated, then stepped forward and offered Chris a hand.

For a moment, Piper feared that Chris would refuse it, broaden the chasm between them, but after some hesitation Chris took the hand, letting it go almost as quickly again. Still, something in Leo's face relaxed.

"Stay safe," he said, and clasped Sarah's hand, who reacted with the same reluctance. "Both of you."

Next, it was Paige and Phoebe, and this goodbye consisted of a good deal more hugging and squealing and whispering of things Piper didn't understand, like Paige's "I'll never forget, I promise" to Sarah and Phoebe's fervent "I'll keep you safe, just you see".

For a moment, Piper felt a stab of jealousy at the easy contact her sisters managed with Chris, but she suppressed quickly. They had earned it, by seeing more than she and by being better persons all around, and she was glad that Chris was able to accept an embrace from his aunts, at least.

At long last however, Phoebe released him, and his head slowly swivelled over to her. Piper's breath caught again. She was afraid of this moment, of what he would choose to say and do, but before she could fully harden herself to expect the worst, he had slung his arms around her and hugged her, too, quickly and a bit too hard, but it had been a true hug.

She felt her eyes fill with tears.

"Be careful," he whispered to her, his voice breaking, his head lowered so that his chin was almost touching the top of her head. "Just… take good care of yourself, Piper. Please."

And… oh… was he saying what she thought he was saying? Her hands clenched as she fought the impulse to reach out for him, grab him, just hold on for dear life and never let him go – but she had learned that she couldn't do that.

"I love you," she whispered back instead. "And thank you, Chris. Thank you for everything."

He stepped back, nothing in his face showing the heartbreak she'd heard in his voice.

Piper met Sarah's eyes and nodded once, respectfully. She knew that the girl hadn't liked her from the start, and by now she understood why and, in a way, agreed.

"Thank you," she told her, too, because she didn't even want to know what would have happened to Chris if Sarah hadn't stepped into their attic on that day, and Sarah mirrored the gesture, lowering her head in something like silent respect.

Then she reached out, took the potion from Phoebe, and turned her eyes to Chris.

"Ready?" She asked quietly.

He didn't smile. His eyes were dark and troubled, and still he seemed overwhelmed by everything, as if the slightest breeze could waft him away. Piper wondered how he could have appeared so cold to her, so unapproachable, when now she saw his pain so clearly.

"Ready," he said, although he didn't really mean it.

Still, Sarah nodded and threw the vial, and behind them, the light of a time portal bloomed, filling the attic with its eerie pulsing.

Again, Chris' hand found Sarah's and grasped it tightly.

"Together," he said, and as if there was nothing for him here, he turned and walked towards the portal with her, not once looking back.

Tears burning in her eyes and on her cheeks, Piper stretched out a helpless hand after them, because this couldn't be _it_, this couldn't end this way, she couldn't have lost him before even fully finding him…

But then her hand brushed across her stomach, and suddenly she remembered.

She hadn't lost him. He had only barely begun to exist, and the years before she'd meet _this_ Chris again wouldn't stretch endless and barren. She hadn't lost him. He was right here with her, just waiting for his first steps on his path and their love to guide him.

_Travel safely, son_, she thought as their silhouettes blurred and vanished into the light. _I love you. We won't fail you, this time_.

* * *

THE END

* * *

A/N:

**And that's the end of this story, folks! Thank you for all your patience, reviews and support!**

**Stay tuned for the two-part epilogue that should follow in about a week, but if you could, please drop me a review in the meantime – it would mean a lot to me.**

**All the best to you!**


	46. Epilogue I

A/N: So here's the first part of the two-parter epilogue. Don't expect plot here - that's reserved for the eventual sequel, so you'll find no Elders in this one. But I hope you'll enjoy nevertheless!

* * *

**Epilogue**

Wyatt Matthew Halliwell considered himself a very lucky man.

Sure, he'd be the first to admit that he wasn't the brightest cookie in the jar (he had his brother for that), but he had a good job teaching at magic school, a nice apartment, a mystical sword and, above all, a loving and huge family. That was a lot for someone not yet twenty-one.

Take today for example, Sunday, a day most twenty-year-olds would have spent with their friends, or recovering from the partying they'd done Saturday night. But Wyatt always spent his Sundays with the family, and it was the day of the week he looked forward to most.

His parents, aunts and uncles would usually be there, as would most of his cousins. Some were at the rebellious stage and had declared that they had better things to do with a Sunday than waste it with their parents, but Chris would always orb in from whatever country he was currently travelling through on his big trip around the world, so the house was full and alive.

And the food, prepared by his mother and brother, was always excellent, a fact Wyatt, who for the life of him couldn't fry an egg, took general advantage of.

Which was why he was sitting alone on the couch in the living room, having dodged kitchen duty successfully, when the sound of orbing reached him from the conservatory. He got up and walked over to greet the arrival.

He had no idea that the next moments would change his life forever.

Wyatt had known it was Chris from the moment the orb lights formed. They were both whitelighters, after all, and beyond that close enough to form an independent bond between them that allowed them to always know where the other was and if something bad was happening to him – a fact that had saved Chris' life more than once.

But something about Chris was different today. Had he tinkered with strange magics again? Wyatt could have sworn that his 'grand tour' was nothing but an excuse to try out exotic spells given to him by questionable characters around the world.

Wyatt had been trying to talk him out of that bad habit for weeks now, and so when Chris materialised, he was confronted with a Wyatt that was frowning critically.

"Chris," he demanded in his 'angry'-voice. "What have you done now?"

He had expected the usual shrug and self-deprecating grin Chris always answered accusations with.

What he hadn't expected was for Chris to see him, go pale, then fling out an arm and throw Wyatt across the room.

He used his own tk to counteract the motion, but still, being bounced off the wall hurt, and connecting with the floor none too gently hurt, too.

So it was a very angry Wyatt that scrambled up from the ground.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" He shouted. "Do I have to kick your ass again?"

Chris flinched, but his arm was already moving to repeat the attack, when shouts and clatter signalled the arrival of other family members.

"Chris? Wyatt? What's going on?" Phoebe shouted, and Chris let his arm fall, looking actually confused by her presence.

No, scratch that, Wyatt thought, frowning again. Chris looked like a cornered animal in full panic mode. He had only ever seen his brother like this twice, once when Barabas had gotten to him and convinced him that his family had been taken over by demons, and once when he'd been fourteen and a demon had kidnapped him and held him in a cave for days.

Whatever this was, it was serious.

Phoebe seemed to recognize that, too, because she ignored Wyatt and stepped towards her younger nephew.

"Chris?" She asked.

He raised his hand again, and Wyatt tensed, preparing for another attack, but it was just a gesture this time, meant to keep them away from him. His eyes were flickering through the room, taking in the well-known furniture as if he'd never seen the place before.

"Phoebe?" He then whispered hoarsely, and something about the way he talked was foreign, different, completely unlike Chris.

Phoebe gasped.

"Chris?" She repeated, but this time there was something like awe in her voice. "Is that _you?_"

Well, of course it was him, Wyatt thought confusedly, but Chris didn't seem to find the question strange. He nodded shakily.

"What year?" He asked. "What… How…"

Again Phoebe gasped, and when Wyatt looked over to her, there were actually tears in her eyes.

"What's going on?" He asked, and Chris jerked, as if Wyatt's mere voice frightened him.

"Phoebe?" He whispered.

"Oh God, sweetie," his aunt sobbed, but then she pulled herself together and was almost the woman Wyatt knew and loved again.

"It's 2024, Chris, and you did it," she said, and her eyes were starting to overflow. "He's good, Chris, you did it! And everyone's alive!"

Chris' arm sank to his side. He blinked rapidly, as if trying to suppress tears.

"Everyone?" He asked. "I… Where's Mom?"

"I'm here, peanut," their Mom said from over by the door, and why the hell was she crying, too? "I'm here. Phoebe's right. You did so good, Chris."

Chris stumbled and had to lean against the wall for support. His eyes were fixed on Mom, drinking the sight of her in, as if he hadn't seen her less than a week ago, as if some huge, awful eternity had passed.

"You're alive," he whispered. Then his hands rose to his face, cupping his mouth, and he started crying, great, painful sobs that were rocking his whole body.

"You're alive! I… God, I didn't let myself believe…"

Mom rushed forward, enfolding Chris in her arms, helping him keep his balance, and so did Wyatt, but Phoebe's hand stopped him.

"They need a moment," she whispered. "Wyatt, this must be very confusing to you, but we'll explain everything, okay? Just… Chris needs some time, and it would be better if you didn't try to touch him right now."

Wyatt just stared at her, but she kept waiting for an answer, and so he finally nodded unsteadily. Had he done something? Had something happened to Chris? What the hell was going on here?

But before he could ask Phoebe, she'd moved away from Wyatt and the still sobbing Chris.

"Paige?" She called.

His aunt materialized in blue lights.

"I thought we said afternoon?" She asked. "I'm not really ready yet…"

Then she caught sight of Chris and Piper.

"What's going on?"

"It's Chris," Phoebe whispered, and something in the way she said that made it sound like the name of stranger. "The _other_ Chris."

Paige's eyes widened. She, too, seemed to know something Wyatt didn't.

"Oohh," she exclaimed. "But… it's too early. I mean, he was twenty-two when he… I mean, he _will_ be twenty-two when he, oh, damn it!"

"My thoughts exactly," Chris said and extracted himself from Mom's arms. He seemed to have calmed down a bit, but he still didn't sound like Chris. He sounded… older, Wyatt thought in surprise, and harder, like a man twice his age.

"Why am I so young?"

"Chris!" Paige suddenly squealed, rushed over them, Phoebe hot on her heels, and enfolded Chris into another hug of epic proportions.

But Chris, who was a mean hugger of his own right and extremely tactile with the whole family, only seemed to endure their touch for a moment before he stepped away.

He took a deep breath, and again his eyes flickered through the room, to land on Wyatt this time. But he was not meeting his eyes.

_What's the matter with you? _Wyatt thought through their bond, but to his shock he only encountered a wall between them, as if their connection had somehow been blocked. It felt like a slap in the face to Wyatt.

"So he's…" he asked and gestured helplessly. "And we are… you know…"

_What?_

But Piper seemed to understand him perfectly. She smiled sadly and touched his shoulder.

"Wyatt," she addressed him for the first time since the world he'd known and liked had been put on its head. "Would you tell Chris what he means to you?"

Now that was a weird request if ever Wyatt had heard one. But being a Charmed One, he was well used to weird, so he just shrugged.

"Sure," he said. "If you promise to tell me what's going on sometime today? He's my little brother and my best friend, and I love him."

Shockingly, Chris started sobbing again. Was he on some emotion-enhancing potion, or had he been infected with an empath-power? But his mother and aunts were acting as if this was nothing out of the usual and to be expected. They were actually sharing happy little glances while the tears were running over Chris' face.

One day, this family would drive Wyatt crazy.

"Okay," Chris said finally, visibly pulling himself together. "You said 2024, so I should be… twenty? Wait…"

Suddenly, he reached down and pulled off his t-shirt, _right in front of the aunts and Mom_, then proceeded to stare at his own body as if it was the most interesting thing he had seen all day.

"My scars are gone!" He breathed.

Which was ridiculous, considering that his scars were right there for all to see – the small ones from his appendectomy and the series of protective runes around his belly button that they'd all had made following a series of attacks by an especially nasty demon clan.

"This body is flabby," Chris then said accusingly, staring down at his belly, then up at his family again and back down. "And I'm weak. Why am I weak? Where are my muscles? Don't you make me train in this reality? How am I supposed to fight like this, soft all over?"

Again, Piper smiled sadly.

"You're not so much a fighter, Chris," she told him. "More like the resident family expert on creatures and magical theory."

"Okay," Chris said stupidly. He was still staring at his own belly. "Good to know. Wait."

He suddenly looked up and seemed to forget his body, as though he wasn't standing half-naked in front of everyone!

"Why don't I know that? Where are the other memories? I should remember that, right?"

"Oh, stop worrying, sweetie," Paige said, taking him by the – naked! - shoulders and rubbing them comfortingly. "We had a lot of time to research this, remember? Your memories will return when the time is right. Every case is a bit different, but not many people merge immediately."

Merge? Memories? Case? His aunt had done research on this?

"I want an explanation," Wyatt said in his Twice-Blessed-I'm-your-boss-so-deal-with-it-voice. "Now."

* * *

"So you see, we _wanted_ to tell you, both of you," Piper was saying earnestly. "But the other Chris was twenty-two when he left for the future, so we thought it safe to wait another year, until our Chris had returned from his trip. I'm sorry, we simply miscalculated."

Wyatt nodded numbly.

He remembered the stories, of course, had in fact loved them most of all the tales his family liked to tell, those stories about a young whitelighter from the future who'd bravely come to past, risking his own life, to protect Wyatt from a great evil that would hurt him in the future.

In fact, he couldn't get enough of the stories about "Perry" and had even turned him into a game that Chris and he had played for years, until Chris had gotten too old to play a young Wyatt that would sit around and look at his hero Perry adoringly, and Wyatt had gotten too old to run around in an old bed sheet shouting 'I am the time traveller Perry! Take this, demon!"

And now it turned out that 'Perry' had been Chris. And Wyatt had been the demon.

Wyatt took a gulping breath. He wouldn't cry. He would. Not. Cry.

Instead, he looked up and met the eyes of this Chris, a different Chris that wasn't his brother in all the ways that mattered, a Chris that had sacrificed himself to make sure Wyatt wouldn't destroy the world.

"So… you don't remember me? At all?" He asked quietly. He would not cry. "How we grew up together?"

_His_ Chris would have grinned and made a mocking remark about how it was very clear to everyone that only Chris had actually grown up, while Wyatt only grew larger.

This Chris just shook his head, a clipped, uninterested gesture, and kept watching Wyatt like a snake that was about to attack.

"No," he said. "But it will come back, I'm sure."

It didn't sound as if he was looking forward to it at all.

Wyatt swallowed hard and blindly reached for the herbal tea Phoebe had put down in front of him.

Just yesterday, this man (and he was a man, where Chris had still been a boy) had known more about him than anybody else in the world.

He would have remembered. How they had used their orb lights to imitate light sabers when Wyatt had seen _Star Wars_ for the first time. The scavenger hunts around the world Wyatt had staged for Chris to teach him how to control his orbing.

The way Chris would always know when Wyatt would be overwhelmed or unhappy or frightened, and would amble over, take his hand and look up at him with adoring eyes, making him feel big and brotherly and protective. All the times Chris' knowledge had saved Wyatt and Wyatt's power had saved Chris.

And the many nights Chris had climbed into his bed as a younger boy, when their parents were out on a demon hunt, and Wyatt had slung his arms around him and activated his shield to make Chris feel safe. How he had bought Chris a night light for his fourth birthday that shone in exactly the colours of his shield, because Chris claimed he slept better with that light around him.

All gone. A lifetime of memories. And now he was the only who had them.

And nobody else seemed to care.

"Where's Leo?" Chris asked in a tone their Chris would have never used when talking about their Dad.

"Shopping," Piper answered with a smile. "And we can't call for him. He's mortal now, has been since shortly after your birth, actually. In fact," she turned to Paige. "Could you go collect him, Paige? And tell the others that we won't have family dinner tonight – a host of cousins would be a bit much right now, I think."

Paige nodded and orbed out, while Piper turned back to Chris.

Her smile widened. "We're very happy together, Chris. He's a great father."

Chris didn't react to that. He seemed pre-occupied with something else.

"And Bianca?" He asked quietly.

Piper's face fell.

"I'm sorry, Chris," she said. "We kept an eye on her, of course. Phoebe even tried talking to her once. But she followed her mother's path. She was killed by another witch almost two years ago."

Chris closed his eyes, and Phoebe reached out, softly touching his hand.

"We always knew that might happen," he whispered tonelessly, and then, after a long moment. "Tell me about my cousins. How many are there?"

Phoebe immediately began listing her and Paige's children, complete with birth dates, hobbies and powers, and it still seemed unbelievable to Wyatt that Chris wouldn't know these things – Chris, who remembered every single one of their birthdays and then reminded Wyatt in turn, Chris, who had an uncanny knack to give the perfect presents to little girls and boys even though _he_'d only ever wanted books at that age.

Wyatt closed his eyes and desperately wished this all to be a dream. But he didn't wake up. Instead, his father came home.

His familiar, steady presence loosened something inside Wyatt, and he opened his eyes hopefully. Dad would make this nightmare disappear. He would grab Chris into one of their bear hugs, and look at him with that superhuman ability to understand whatever went on in his sons' heads just now, and he would make it better.

Without knowing it, Wyatt breathed a sigh of relief.

But Da just stood there.

Wyatt could see that his eyes were wet, as if almost crying, and that his hands were clenching and unclenching, wanting to reach out but for some reason not doing so. He just stood there, waiting.

Then he quietly said.

"Chris. Son. I'm so glad to see you well."

And Chris, who had always adored their father to a ridiculous degree, just let his eyes travel over Dad without warmth in them, without love.

"You look _old_," he said in surprise, and Wyatt bristled angrily. So the new Chris was also rude?

But Dad just shrugged and grinned.

"A small price to pay for being with all of you," he said simply, and something in Chris' face softened at that.

"Yeah," he said awkwardly. "Sorry about that. But I warned you it wasn't worth it."

This time, Dad's smile broadened until it lighted up the room.

"Oh, but it was Chris," he disagreed. "It so was."

Something passed between them, then, and Chris ducked his head and nodded shyly, looking almost like Wyatt's real brother for a moment, but still he made no move towards Dad, and instead of going over for a hug, Dad settled down at the other side of the table. He did not touch Wyatt, either. And Wyatt could have murdered for a proper hug.

Mom and the aunts continued prattling on about everyday life, then, Chris' grades and his plans for college, the former girlfriend he had split up with a few months ago, and Chris was listening as if all this didn't really concern him, as if he was politely indulging his family's interest in a complete stranger while thinking about this Bianca, a woman Wyatt had never even heard of.

"Excuse me for a moment," Wyatt said abruptly, put down his cup and walked out of the room. He knew without looking that Chris' eyes would follow him until he was too far away to be a threat.

He was standing in the kitchen, trying not to scream, wondering how he was supposed to get through this day, when flames suddenly appeared on the other side of the kitchen isle.

Wyatt almost laughed. A demon was exactly what he needed now, something to work through his frustration and anger, and so he barely waited until the woman had materialized before blasting her with a middle-powered energy ball.

She screamed in pain, but twisted to the side quickly enough that only her shoulder was grazed.

He growled and raised his hand, another ball already forming in it.

"How _dare_ you come into this house," he shouted. "Don't you know it is protected?"

He raised his hand to release the energy, but the voice of his brother interrupted him.

"Wyatt," he shouted. "No! She's a friend!"

Startled, Wyatt let the energy fade again. Someone who flamed into their kitchen was a friend?

The woman looked up at Wyatt, panic in her eyes when she recognized him, and then she was on her knees, arms stretched out in front of her, face pressed to the floor.

"What the hell…" Wyatt whispered.

"It's okay," Chris said softly, soothingly, and for a tiny moment, Wyatt thought he was speaking to him, and his heart gave a strange little hitch.

But his brother walked right past him, to the girl, and knelt down besides her on the kitchen floor.

"You made it, Sarah," he whispered, took her hands, gathered her up from the floor and embraced her with none of the reserve he'd shown towards Mom and the aunts. "You made it. It's okay. We both made it."

Lying stiffly in his arms, her face pressed into Chris' shirt, the girl – Sarah? – made a tiny, broken sound. Then her hands reached out for Chris, grabbed him, drew him closer, and suddenly they were clinging to each other in complete silence, apparently oblivious to the family that had gathered in the kitchen.

"What the hell…" Wyatt whispered again, and it said a lot about the situation that neither his mother nor his aunts bothered to correct his language.

This embrace lasted a good deal longer than the one between Piper and Chris, and in the end it was the girl who loosened her grip first. Chris took her hand again and drew her up till they were both standing, then carefully cradled her face in his palms, tilting it this way and that.

"You have new scars," he said. "Why do you have new scars? And why are holding yourself as if you're hurt?"

To Wyatt's complete shock he proceeded to give a repeat performance of the undressing-incident, grabbing her top and pulling it upwards enough to expose her stomach and a black bra. Wyatt actually made a choking sound at that – Chris was painfully shy with girls and he'd never, _never_ treat one of them so disrespectfully.

But the girl didn't even seem to mind. She just twisted her hip a bit, showing him a long, thin wound that ran from her ribs almost to her belly button.

"Just a scratch," she said calmly, ignoring the way his hands were ghosting across her back now. "That and the shoulder. Nothing bad, I swear."

"But these scars are all new," Chris protested. "I… what happened to you in this future?"

"It turns out that there were actually a few good things about _our_ version," the girl said dryly. "More torture for me in this reality, as it turns out."

Chris clenched his lips, closed his eyes, then swore. Loudly, colourfully and shockingly.

Wyatt felt his jaw drop. And it dropped even further when Mom didn't even comment Chris' foul, foul language.

"Paige," she said instead. "Would you heal Sarah?"

"Sure," Paige almost danced over to the girl, placed a glowing hand on her back and finished the healing with another good, prolonged hug.

"It's so good to have you with us again, Sarah. And thank you, _thank you_," she whispered, then stepped back only to be replaced by Phoebe and then Piper, who repeated the hugging.

Chris was still swearing, and he kept on doing that even as he basically grabbed Sarah out of Piper's arms and once more drew her towards him with all the intensity and warmth the other Chris reserved for his own family.

"I should have thought of that," he finally whispered when he'd run out of swear words. "I really… I'm so sorry, Sarah, I just didn't think…"

"You couldn't have done anything," the girl whispered back, but that only caused Chris to tighten his arms around her, and this was really beginning to weird Wyatt out on a whole new level.

"But I just let you walk through that portal without even considering… I'm such an idiot, Sarah. So you remember this version of reality?"

She nodded.

"It all rushed in the moment I merged, I guess. Not that I've sorted through it all yet."

"Shit," Chris swore again, then reluctantly let go of her.

"So you're a time traveller, too?" Wyatt asked, trying to work through all this, and immediately the girl's eyes snapped back to him, her back stiffened and her knees seemed to give out.

She was halfway back to the floor already before Chris caught the movement and stopped her.

"No," he whispered. "No, don't, he's good, you don't have to anymore."

She began to tremble, and her eyes were fixed on Wyatt's face as if he was the only person in the room. She had pretty eyes, grey and wide and filled with mystery, and her skin – apart from the scars – looked soft and delicate.

"She doesn't have to what anymore?" He asked, trying to figure out why she looked so familiar and unsettling at the same time.

Chris, his arms still around the girl, sent him a look that bordered on hateful.

"Kneel to you," he answered darkly, then fairly dragged her out of the kitchen.

And that was how it ended, the worst day of Wyatt Halliwell's life.

Of course, there was a lot of eating and planning and discussions how to deal with the situation, and the girl kept sitting there quietly, as if expecting to be thrown out of the house, and Chris kept himself between her and the rest of the family, glaring at anyone that came to close, and when Bianca was mentioned, she started crying, and Chris cried, too, and in the end the two of them vanished upstairs to sleep off the time lag, and Wyatt went home to his apartment and maybe punched a wall and nearly broke his fist.

But that was the moment he would always remember.

His brother, glaring at him as if he was a demon. Protecting someone else from him, as if Wyatt had ever hurt an innocent soul in his life. His brother, not trusting him.

And Wyatt helpless to do anything about it.

* * *

A/N: I hope you liked the first part of the epilogue. And because I can, here's a preview to the second one, where things come to a head:

xXx

_"I think you want something from me, don't you, Sarah? Something more than you should from your best friend's brother," Wyatt said._

_She was panting now, her hands clenched around the edges of the fridge, as if this was the only way she could keep herself from touching him._

_"No…" she breathed, so quietly and softly that it felt like pure air on his face. It brought the clean scent of her smell, the peppermint of her tooth paste._

_He raised one arm and rested his hand on the fridge, right by her head. Girls liked his arms – Jenny had always told him that she felt so safe in his arms, because he was so strong._

_"Oh, but I think you do," he said with a smirk and leant forward to kiss her…_

_And was thrown across the room by magic stronger and more furious than he'd experienced for a long time._

_"Touch her again and you'll die," a voice growled, and it took Wyatt a very long moment of shaking his head and getting his eyes and ears to work properly again to recognize that the voice belonged to his brother._

_xXx_

So there, something to look forward to! Especially since the next part might take a while longer - the next week is insanely busy.

But feel free to motivate me, aka review, please!


	47. Epilogue II

A/N: And here's the second and last part of the epilogue. Thank you for your reviews, and a special thanks goes to Aynessa who made me aware of a rather embarrassing mistake: I briefly mentioned in the last chapter that Wyatt had a girlfriend – that sneaked its way in via an earlier draft and is clearly wrong. He's single in this epilogue. Sorry about that.

* * *

**Epilogue II**

The next week passed in a strange and slightly surreal mix of routine and the completely unexpected. Wyatt could never be sure how his brother or family would react to something that had been entirely normal just days before.

Some things were actually easier with this new version of Chris. He didn't argue at all when Mom told him that he was supposed to be on a year-long tour around the world but would naturally stay home at the Manor now, since he'd given his apartment up for the time he was travelling. Wyatt's Chris would have thrown a fit at the idea of moving back in with his family, but this one shrugged and simply commented that it beat the backroom of the club, and what the hell was that supposed to mean?

Wyatt's Chris would have protested when Aunt Paige and Phoebe had stated that his clothes were completely outdated after half a year in various wildernesses and that Sarah didn't own any clothes, anyway, and therefore decided to drag both of them shopping. But this Chris had just agreed under the condition that they wouldn't buy anything he couldn't blend in with (why would he want to blend in, anyway? Everyone in the magical community knew who he was, after all) and that his clothes needed to give him free range of motion (to do what? Sit at his desk comfortably? Because there wasn't much else Chris usually did when at home).

This Chris was less picky about things – food, the way his coffee was done, tidiness, when he had to get up in the mornings, and he didn't seem half as intimidated by Wyatt's powers. But even these changes that Wyatt might have considered improvements under different circumstances were now nothing more than signs that something was wrong with his little brother. And he seemed to be the only person who saw it that way.

Wyatt kept waiting for Chris' memories to reappear, as his parents had promised they would, but the only reaction from Chris when Wyatt showed him what had been important parts of his life seemed bewilderment.

"I liked that?" He asked, or "I wore _that?_" or "What do you mean, that was my girlfriend for two years? She wouldn't be able to vanquish a demon if it dropped unconscious in front of her!"

Sometimes, Wyatt wondered with a rising feeling of despair if the brother he'd known and loved would ever return to him.

But the weirdest and most unsettling way about it all wasn't the way Chris had changed. It was the way his family had changed around him.

They had stopped touching Chris. They did no longer enter rooms unannounced and without warning and made, in fact, sure that no one would orb into the Mansion without calling well beforehand. They found reason after reason to keep their relatives away from the place, and, okay, Wyatt got that, because Chris without his memories of them was scary sometimes, but they even excluded Uncle Coop and Henry, as if they were afraid that every additional person could unbalance Chris.

They also didn't criticise his sometimes less than proper behaviour, had, in fact, completely stopped commenting on whatever he was doing, as if they had suddenly lost the right to act as his parents.

One morning as they had just sat down to breakfast, orb lights suddenly filled the room and there were Chris and Sarah, absolutely filthy and clearly coming home from a night who knew where. And his mother, who'd have thrown a fit at seeing Wyatt in that state, had not even blinked, just smiled and asked if they would join them at breakfast.

And when Chris had declined and told them they'd just take showers and go to their room, she had only nodded.

That was another thing. They were sharing a _room_. And while there'd never been any stupid taboos about girlfriends in their family (which would have been ridiculous, considering what Wyatt knew about his aunts' past), the girl looked young, really, really young, and Wyatt couldn't for the life of him understand why his mother would allow something like that under her roof.

And Sarah was another problem altogether.

He couldn't understand why the girl kept looking at Wyatt that way, half awed, half terrified, why she automatically seemed to turn towards him whenever he entered a room. Why she tilted her head just so when he talked, exposing her white, long neck to him.

It was doing funny things to his mind.

She wouldn't talk to him, careful to keep a distance between them at any time, but she seemed always aware of his presence, and he, in turn, of hers.

And sometimes, when her attention was on other things, when she was listening to Phoebe or talking with Chris, or reading or eating, she seemed to be able to read his mind. He would notice that he needed or wanted something, the wish only half formed, and there it would be, handed to him casually by Sarah – the remote control, a glass of ice cold orange juice, the Book of Shadows – and she didn't even look at him when she did it, as if she hadn't at all noticed how she'd foreseen his wish.

And whenever that happened while Chris was in the room, his little brother's face would turn sharp, pinched, angry – not jealous, strangely enough, because Wyatt would have understood that he didn't want his girlfriend to do that kind of thing for his brother, but _furious_ -, and he looked as if he wanted to vanquish something.

"Stop it right now," he would say, and she'd cringe and actually look ashamed, as if doing Wyatt a favour was something terrible.

Wyatt wondered if she was an empath, because no one had really explained her powers to him. No one had, in fact, bothered to at all explain her presence or how she was connected to their past or the other, different future. It was one of the many topics his whole family seemed to ignore or dance around, and the only thing he got from his parents when he asked about it was the advice to _stay away from her_ and _give them time_.

Fat lot of help that was.

What he really needed was advice on how to deal with a brother that wasn't his brother anymore and his friend that kept flirting with Wyatt – for what could it be if not flirting? Because, really, he might not be the cleverest man on earth, but why would a girl keep handing him drinks, adjusting the curtains when the sun was threatening to blind him, pass the bowls with food to him when he wanted seconds before he knew he wanted seconds, if she didn't want anything from him?

And, yes, okay, he knew what projecting was and that he was in a right state, emotionally, and missing his brother like hell, but he felt drawn to her, as if they were sharing something he'd never felt before, as if she knew him, deep down, his fears and insecurities, and could make him whole.

As if she could become the person Chris no longer seemed willing to be for him.

And normally, he would have forbidden himself such thoughts, because lusting after his brother's girlfriend was a no-go under any circumstances, but Chris didn't _treat_ her like a girlfriend.

He only touched her when she'd acquired yet another mysterious bruise (where did they _go_ at night? To bar brawls?), and then it was in the clinical way of a healer or whitelighter, not as if he loved her. He didn't look at her in the way Chris had looked at his other girlfriends, and he kept mentioning that Bianca-woman. And the sleeping in one room? Turned out that they were _guarding each others' sleep_. Weirdest thing he'd ever heard.

So what was Wyatt to make of that?

That was the state – or rather chaos – of his mind when things came to a head on the sixth day after Chris' and Sarah's arrival.

He'd been for yet another run, hoping that this one would finally clear his head, and so he was hot and tired and pleasantly relaxed when he re-entered the house through the kitchen and found Sarah there. She froze at seeing him as she always did in the first moment, like a small animal in the sudden glare of a hunter, and the reaction coiled in his stomach, sick and sweet at the same time, making him feel powerful and yet strangely helpless.

But, as always, she pulled herself together too quickly for the sensation to really form or be analysed, and went to the fridge without greeting him, pouring orange juice into a tall glass and adding four ice cubes, just the way he liked it. She handed him the glass without meeting his eyes, ready to slink away as she always did, and something within him snapped.

He was so tired of this, so fed up with people sending mixed signals he couldn't interpret, so exhausted by the layers and layers of unspoken things he had no chance of knowing.

So he put the glass on the counter and stepped in her way.

Her eyes snapped up to his face. There was panic in them, and he wanted to retreat, because this was obviously not the reaction he was looking for, but then her face smoothed, so quickly that he was sure he'd just mistaken surprise for something more, and her body was angling itself towards him, her hips towards his hips, her shoulders thrown back slightly as if to invite him to step closer.

So he did.

"L… Wyatt," she said quietly, and he wondered what it was she had originally meant to say. "What are you doing?"

He took another step towards her and she echoed the movement, her back contacting with the fridge. She was breathing quickly, her chest moving up and down in a way that caught Wyatt's eye and wouldn't let him go.

"You've been watching me," he answered just as quietly, his deep voice rumbling through the kitchen. His last girlfriend had gone on and on about his voice, how she loved it when he spoke like that, slow and dark and a tiny bit menacing. She'd called it

'dead sexy'. "When you think I'm not looking. You're watching me. And it seems to me that you know quite a lot about me, Sarah."

Her face was flushed, and her wide eyes were staring at him with an expression he couldn't interpret. She was pressing herself against the fridge like it was the only thing that was still keeping her standing.

She didn't say anything, just kept looking at him like that. He took it as encouragement.

"I think you want something from me, don't you, Sarah? Something more than you should from your best friend's brother."

She was panting now, her hands clenched around the edges of the fridge, as if this was the only way she could keep herself from touching him.

"No…" she breathed, so quietly and softly that it felt like pure air on his face. It brought the clean scent of her smell, the peppermint of her tooth paste.

He raised one arm and rested his hand on the fridge, right by her head. Girls liked his arms – Jenny had always told him that she felt so safe in his arms, because he was so strong.

"Oh, but I think you do," he said with a smirk and leant forward to kiss her…

And was thrown across the room by magic stronger and more furious than he'd experienced for a long time.

"Touch her again and you'll die," a voice growled, and it took Wyatt a very long moment of shaking his head and getting his eyes and ears to work properly again to recognize that the voice belonged to his brother.

"Chris?" He asked, unable to believe it.

Chris wasn't powerful like that, usually, though he'd done this on the evening of the other Chris' arrival, but more importantly, Chris didn't get angry like this, so furious that his lips were drawn back in a snarl, that his voice sounded like thunder and that his movements reminded Wyatt of a tiger, all coiled strength and unpredictability.

But this wasn't Chris, was it? At least not _his_ Chris.

"Did you hear me?" This not-Chris demanded again.

"What are you _doing_?" Wyatt complained, slowly climbing back to his feet. "You can't just throw people across the room when you feel like it, it's…"

"Don't lecture me on what I can't do, _Wyatt."_

The cold blade of that voice cut through Wyatt's thoughts and he whipped his head up, finding Chris on the opposite end of the kitchen, standing protectively in front of Sarah.

And again, something snapped.

"This is ridiculous, Chris," he said, trying very hard not to shout. "Okay, so perhaps I shouldn't have tried to kiss her, but I really thought she wasn't your girlfriend, so excuse me for not seeing through your extremely complicated relationships."

Sarah was still panting wildly, he noticed, and her hands were still clenched at the edges of the fridge. Strange. She also didn't seem to look at Chris, didn't even really seem to register him – just kept staring into the distance with a vacant expression, her lips slightly parted, her pupils dilated. It looked less like passion now, from a distance.

"That's not what this is about," Chris growled, his hands twitching, his whole body thrumming with tension. He was taking this jealousy thing way too far. "I don't care if you're good or evil, Wyatt, but if you touch her again, I will kill you."

"She looked quite happy about me touching her," Wyatt shot back, and that was a mistake, because Chris got even angrier.

"Does she look happy now?" He hissed, and, no, looking at Sarah, Wyatt had to admit that she didn't look happy at all. But who'd look happy after Chris stormed in and threatened everyone with death?

"She could have said something," Wyatt protested.

"She's too terrified to say something, you idiot!"

Chris was shouting again, his face white with anger, and now Wyatt felt a corresponding fury race through his body. Who did they think they were, these two strangers, coming here, taking over Wyatt's world, playing games with him and expecting him to just take it and say thank you? This was his home, his family, his _life_, and they had no right to simply take it all from him!

"I don't know what's between you and where you found her," he therefore said, maybe shouting a little bit, but if he was, he had good reason for that. "But she's been flirting with me for days, and you really can't blame me for that! Perhaps she just likes me better than you! I'm sorry if she can't make up her mind, but…"

His tirade was going nicely up until the point where Sarah took a sharp, sobbing breath, turned green and bolted from the kitchen. He could hear her in the backyard, retching desperately. Well. Not a very flattering reaction.

And it got Chris even angrier, impossible as that seemed to be a minute ago.

"She can't make up her mind because you _tortured _the ability out of her!" He roared, advancing towards Wyatt now that the one he protected had left the room. "You _trained_ her to react to you like that! How could that possibly be her fault?"

"What? What are you talking about?" Wyatt asked, confusion now mixing with his anger. Confusion, and a rising fear.

Because he knew what this would be about, didn't he? The other him, the Wyatt he had steadfastly refused to think about this past week, the monster that had destroyed his own family and terrorized the world.

The man he could have become.

The man Chris was seeing right now, judging from the hate that twisted his face. The man that had been similar enough to him that his own brother couldn't distinguish between them.

"I'm talking about the fact that you enslaved her, Wyatt," Chris roared. "You enslaved her and forced her to kill for you! I'm talking about the fact that you raped her, for three _fucking_ years, because you were a sick bastard who thought he was God!"

All thought went out of Wyatt's head.

"NO," he protested. "No, that's not true!"

Because that couldn't be true. That the power of Twice-Blessed could corrupt was something Wyatt had been aware of for a long time – his parents had made sure that he understood the responsibility and the burden of carrying such a power. But this? He would never do that to a girl like Sarah, not to anybody, not in a thousand worlds, not under any circumstances, and so it couldn't be true, because if it was, then Wyatt didn't know himself.

But Chris couldn't know the thoughts running through Wyatt's head. He just heard the denial, and it tipped him over the edge.

Chris snarled, and again his hand whipped up, the coiled power of his magic striking at Wyatt, flinging him against the wall, tightening around his throat. Choking him.

"So she's lying?" Chris hissed, white-faced with anger.

Wyatt's fingers were scrabbling across his neck, blindly searching for the obstruction that would not let him breathe. One part of his mind was shouting at him to use his magic against Chris, to stop his brother before he did something he would regret, but already his air was running out… he was so tired… and how could he even think about hurting his brother?

"Chris…" he gasped. "No… Chris…"

But Chris was too far gone to hear him.

"She really wanted it?" He was shouting, and the hand that was suffocating his brother did not tremble. "Is that what you're saying? You raped my best friend, you tortured me, and you killed my fiancé, and we all asked for it? Perhaps I should just end you now, Wyatt, because clearly you've not learned a thing beneath that puppy dog exterior, and I…"

"Chris! Let him down immediately!"

That was Dad, probably called to the kitchen by the sounds of their fight, and Wyatt gasped with relief, because his father would help, would stop Chris so that Wyatt could breathe again.

But nothing changed, and dimly, with the slow stupidity of retreating consciousness, Wyatt realized that Dad couldn't actually _do_ anything. He was mortal. And this Chris didn't trust him.

"Chris! Stop it! He's your brother!"

"He's a monster!"

"Wyatt! Orb away _now_! Chris is not himself!"

But Wyatt couldn't orb away. He couldn't think, nor even see, everything dying away in a dull ocean of grey, and in his ears the roaring voice of his brother, accusing him of horrible things, sounding not only like a stranger, but like an enemy.

And then Sarah was back in the room, a hand on Chris' arm, her voice ringing clear even through the chaos of Wyatt's mind.

"Chris," she whispered. "Chris, look at him. He's not Lord Wyatt. He's your brother. He's just a man who made a mistake. He won't hurt us. You don't have to protect me from him, Chris. Look at him!"

And what neither Wyatt nor Dad had been able to achieve, she did. Chris gasped. His clenched fist opened, his magic retreating from Wyatt, and Wyatt found that he could breathe again.

He fell to his knees, coughing and trying desperately to suck as much air into his lungs as he could. He'd never hurt like this in his life.

But then his father's arms were around him, holding him, guiding him to lean back against the wall, whispering comfort into his ears, and Wyatt's heaving breath steadied.

He opened his eyes and looked up to the brother who had tried to kill him.

That was the moment when Mom rushed into the kitchen, arms outstretched to explode whatever was threatening her family. She took in the situation at a glance – Wyatt's hands still massaging his throat, Dad hovering over him protectively, Chris held back by Sarah, and her hands flew up to her mouth.

"Chris," she whispered, horror in her face. "What did you _do?"_

Something like awareness returned to Chris' eyes. His arm was still outstretched towards Wyatt, trembling with tension. His eyes had narrowed in fury, but now they went wide, shocked, frightened and horrified in a sequence of emotions that darted across his face so quickly that Wyatt couldn't follow them.

"I…" he whispered, his voice hoarse from all the shouting. His head cocked sideways, his eyes searching out Sarah, and her grip on his arm tightened. "I didn't mean to…"

"Doesn't change the fact that you nearly killed me…" Wyatt grumbled.

He had meant it as a bit of good natured ribbing, the kind of thing they always said when they had just barely survived another mad adventure, but Chris took it in an entirely different way.

"No," he whispered, sounding so forlorn, so hopeless, that Wyatt let go of his father and scrambled back to his feet, suddenly alarmed not for himself, but for his brother. "No… I never wanted… I'm not like _him."_

"You're not, you're not!" Sarah whispered intently, her other hand rising and grabbing his shoulder, supporting him. "Calm down, Chris. You need to calm down."

"How can I calm down?" He asked, his voice a high, keening noise of horror and grief. "I was right, Sarah! I was right from the very beginning! They should have deleted me – I'm not fit for this reality! What if this happens again, what if…"

"You need to calm down, Chris," Sarah repeated, but if anything, the opposite happened. Chris had that panicked look in his face again, the one of an animal driven into a corner, and a lifetime of experience with him told Wyatt that he would be orbing away in a second, was, in fact, getting ready to do it now, when suddenly, his eyes rolled up in their sockets, his expression grew slack, and his legs gave way under him.

"Chris!" Mom shouted, rushing towards him, but Sarah hadn't let go of him, was just sinking to the floor with him as if she'd done this a hundred times, her arms guiding him, steadying his head, cradling him against her back.

"He's seizing up," she shouted, just as Wyatt could see a trembling spread through Chris' limbs, taking hold of his legs, his arms, until he was shuddering all over, twitching wildly, biting through his lip and holding onto Sarah with such force it had to hurt like hell.

Mom fell to his knees beside them, reaching out, looking as panicked as Wyatt felt, but Dad was quicker.

"No," he whispered, taking her hands and stopping them. "No, Piper. That's the memories returning. The situation must have triggered them. Don't touch him, you might frighten him. Just wait for the merging to be over."

But there was nothing 'just' about it.

His throat still burning, his body aching with adrenaline and exhaustion, Wyatt stared at his brother, writhing on the floor, at the girl supporting him, at his father and mother, desperate in their wish to protect but entirely helpless.

And he realized that this was it – the moment he'd always dreaded. The moment when their string of lucky escapes would finally end, when something so terrible would happen to his family that they'd break into pieces over it, and Wyatt too weak, to helpless, too useless to help, Twice Blessed or not.

That moment was here.

And it had all been Wyatt's fault, in this world and the other one.

He didn't have to be evil to destroy his brother. Just stupid.

And then Chris' eyes suddenly snapped open, and his back arched up and away from the floor, and his arm stretched out, and he sobbed out a word, a single, excruciating word.

"Dad!"

Mom gasped, and Wyatt felt something sharp give in his chest, some knot splitting open, some terrible burden give way.

"Dad! Help me, please…"

Dad was crying, his face blotchy and his eyes slightly wild, but he was there as he had always been there for them, without hesitation, and he took Chris' outstretched hand and drew Chris closer to him, cradling him in his arms like he had cradled Wyatt just minutes ago.

"I'm here son," he soothed him. "I'm right here. You can do this, Chris, just hold on to me for a while longer, can you do that for me?"

And Chris, panting and sobbing and shuddering, held onto his father with all he had, while one of his hands was still clenched around Sarah's arm, not letting go of either world.

And finally, after minutes that seemed like hours to Wyatt, he quieted.

His breath evened out. His eyes fluttered shut. The frown lines on his face smoothed.

"Chris?" Dad whispered. "Chris, can you hear me? Are you okay, buddy?"

Chris didn't look okay. He looked unconscious, half-dead even. But from somewhere, Wyatt had no idea how, he took the strength to open his bloody, bitten-through lips and speak.

"You used to ask me that," he rasped. "Every time I hurt myself, or was in a fight, or had an accident. Every time I hurt you were there for me, Dad, every time."

Dad closed his eyes, and it took Wyatt a moment to understand that the raw, alien expression on his face was relief, not sorrow. His dad looked exhausted, as if a terrible burden had been taken away from him and the freedom and lightness without it was too great to realize quite yet.

And Wyatt didn't dare breathe, afraid to interrupt this moment that had seemed so awful a moment ago and was now, suddenly, precious.

"Chris?" Mom whispered, one hand reaching out, hesitatingly, coming to rest on his head, brushing his hair back like she had done a thousand times all their life, but not once in the past week.

Chris' eyes opened. They were red rimmed, and tired, but so very green and strangely clear, as if a cloud had passed across it, its shadow finally retreating.

He looked up at her in wonder, then took in Dad and Sarah.

And then he smiled, the old Chris-smile, the smile of a boy that had never stopped being amazed by the things magic could do, the smile of real mama's boy, the smile that had greeted Wyatt when he returned from magic school every afternoon.

His head tilted to the right and his eyes found Wyatt, and, impossible after a week of mistrust and guardedness, his smile widened, and the connection between them suddenly bloomed to life again, flooded with warmth and magic and feelings.

_I'm glad I didn't hurt you, Wy, _Chris' voice whispered through his mind, and Wyatt didn't even bother trying to hide the tears in his eyes. _Why didn't you orb away, you idiot?_

"Peanut?" Mom asked again.

Chris eyes darted back to her, and his left hand rose to her face, tracing the line of her cheek, wiping away her tears.

"I remember the morning of my fourteenth birthday," he said quietly. "How a demon attacked, and we were all alone in the house, and you bled to death in my arms. And I remember the same day, how we celebrated together, the whole family, and nothing bad happened at all…"

He sounded dazed, but the contentment in his face soothed the wounds the past minute had cut, and perhaps, Wyatt realized, this moment hadn't been their breaking point at all. Perhaps this hadn't burnt what they'd had, perhaps it had forged them anew, made them stronger, made them better.

"Are you okay?" Mom whispered. "Please, Chris, tell me, are you okay?"

"Yes," Chris said, and it was a new Chris that answered them. Not the half-grown witch that was still searching for a place in this world, not the battle-worn whitelighter that had travelled across time to save them.

Someone new.

Perhaps someone better.

He took her hand, and he took Sarah's hand, and he squeezed them both, like a promise.

"I'm fine, Mom," he whispered. But he was talking to all of them. "I will be fine."

* * *

A/N:

T**here you have it, dearest readers, and I hope this ending satisfies you somewhat! The only thing left for me is to thank you now for your reviews and support, for the way you loved this story and helped me shape it, and to ask you for one last review to wrap it all up!**

I wish you all the best,

Cunneware


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